Off the Edge of the Map
by Nina La Vough
Summary: Take the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, toss in the CJ characters and what do you get? Not the Good Ship Lollypop for sure. This Nina fic is written by Nynaeve1723, jmkw, and nccjfan.
1. The Bloody Bullet: The Chronicles of the

**It was bound to happen. You watch the **_**Pirates of the Caribbean**_** movies enough, couple that with the new one that's about to come out, add to that the pure speculation that Johnny Depp is talking about the possibility of a fourth one, and stir in some unmitigated lust over hot men. Then toss it to the women of Nina who love to write Woody/Jordan fanfiction and what do you get?**

**A whale of a tale. **

**So grab the Maybelline and cold shower. You're going to need it.**

**This time the good ship Nina is piloted by ****Nynaeve1723****, jmkw, and nccjfan. And we don't own Crossing Jordan.**

**But we're willing to stage a mutiny…..**

_**Off the Edge of the Map**_

**Chapter One**

**The Bloody Bullet: The Chronicles of the Dread Pirate, Nigel Townsend**

_The end of October in Boston was a good enough reason to stay in for the evening. Toss in a driving rain, and no one would blame you if you didn't stir until you had hit the snooze alarm three times the next morning. Woody yawned and stretched as he came out of the bathroom after showering, flopping down on the bed beside Jordan, who was deeply engrossed in reading the latest edition of her forensic journal. He reached for a book on the nightstand he had purchased earlier in the day and settled down to spend a quiet, literary evening with her and the plethora of pirates who were running amuck in his new book._

'...Not unlike the more celebrated Caribbean pirates of Calico Jack Rackman and Edward Teach (alias, Blackbeard the Pirate), the Englishman, Captain Townsend, was renowned for his colorful attire and theatrical charisma. His ship, The Bloody Bullet, and its faithful crew sailed the Caribbean in the later half of the Golden era of Piracy and was a full-fledged member of the infamous Brethren of the Coast. The following includes excerpts from the Captain's personal logs and speculations about his life and that of his lucrative career on the high...'

_Woody thumbed past the prologue to the first few pages of the book trying to judge how long it would take for him to get to looting and pillaging part. Pirates pillaged, caroused and then pillaged again. They didn't have _lucrative careers._ A lucrative career screamed political brown-nosing and diversified 401Ks. He had enough of that at work. He should have stuck with a true crime novel. At least he would have an idea when it was going to start getting exciting. 'Come on!" he said to himself. "Where was the dang booty?"_

"_What are you reading?" Jordan asked, setting her own journal aside._

"_Um..." Woody hummed, flipping the book over to show Jordan the cover. "I picked this up today..." _

"The Bloody Bullet: The Chronicles of the Dread Pirate, Nigel Townsend_." Jordan pulled the book out of his hand and did her own fanning through the pages. "Nigel the Dread Pirate...you're kidding me..."_

"_I saw the title and couldn't resist."_

_Jordan noted the author's name was 'Ellroy' and wondered if he was originally hunting for something by _James_ Ellroy when he stumbled on this instead._

"_Wouldn't it be funny if there was some long, lost relation," she pondered. _

"_You have to admit it would explain a lot." _

"_Don't say that out loud, but then again Nige might enjoy having someone like a pirate in his genealogy."_

"_Not to mention he'd probably milk it to the point where he'd be able eat out on it for months."_

_Her own dry forensics journal forgotten, Jordan rolled over to her side and handed him back the book. Tucking her hand under her check she said, "Tell me about Nigel the DREAD pirate ..." _

_Woody scanned through the pages until he found one of the pirate's aforementioned journal excerpts and began to read out loud..._

On this twenty-third day of May, in the year of our Lord 1720 A.D, the skies be sunny, winds a brisk and steady blow. The hold be solid with 10 kegs 'o water. A blessed day to be free pirate and on the open seas! Thirty days until we put Hoyt off on his island, thank be to our glorious Lord. We should have killed him when we had the chance. Maybe our new cabin boy will take care of this oversight for us. It is no secret that Young Cavanaugh and Hoyt barely tolerate each other. Odd bird that Cavanaugh...

"_WHAT?" Jordan exclaimed grabbing for the book. "Hoyt and Cavanaugh," she laughed. _

_Woody held it just out of her reach. "I'm the one reading this. If you don't like the story write the author." _

"_This particular author has been died for three hundred years."_

"_That's too bad. It would have been nice to point out he spelled both Hoyt and Cavanaugh wrong. H-U-R-L-E-Y and C-R-O-M-M-O-C-K."_

"_A public school education in the early 18__th__ century wasn't all it was cracked up to be," Jordan wisecracked. "So tell me, was Young Cavanaugh Townsend's shanghaied- yet- loyal right-hand and Hoyt the scurvy bilge-scrubbing deckhand?" _

"_Neither," Woody said pointing at the page. "It says here Hoyt was just some schmuck working off a bond and Cavanaugh was an island-born cabin boy..."_

"_Well, that's boring." _

"_This is a historical reference of a real pirate, Jordan, not one of those Johnny-Depp in Maybelline stories you like so much..."_

_

* * *

_"Captain! Captain! You're needed on the port deck! Seeley's got Bug at gun point and yelling for someone to lower the plank." 

Nigel carefully blotted his journal page. "Can't you see we're occupied with the ship's logs, Mr. Winslow?"

"But?"

The sound of wood scraping wood rattled through the walls of the cabin. "It's apparent Mr. Seeley has been successful in his request. Our presence is not required...leave us, please." he drawled with a wave of the hand. "Carry on and such...shoo."

"But Captain!?"

"Shoo."

"..but"

"Very well," he sighed. "You have our attention. What put the bee in Mr. Seeley's bonnet on such a fine day?"

"Bug is in charge of the rum rations..."

"We are well aware of that fact, Mr. Winslow. We assigned the schedule."

"...well, he's been waterin' down the rum with lime again and Matt's not taking it kindly."

"Hoyt's the officer of the deck this watch. Have him handle it."

"He's, ah, got his hands full."

"Excuses. If one wants something done right, one must do it one's self. ...CAVANAUGH! CAVANAUGH! Where is that bloody lad? CAVANAUGH! Mr. Winslow, please don't tell us our cabin steward has put himself in the middle of Mr. Seeley and Mr. Vijay's little squabble," Nigel sighed.

"Woody was able to take that shank of his before he could cause too much damage."

"We assumed Mr. Hoyt tossed Master Cavanaugh's little poker overboard a fortnight ago."

"He did," Peter said looking at his feet. "Jordan must've made another one."

"Dimwits and imbeciles! 'Tis a ship of drunks and derelicts we're cursed with. Remind us to put the lot of you over board at our earliest convenience!"

Peter rolled his eyes. If he had a shilling for every time the captain threatened to toss the crew overboard he'd be the richest man in Tortuga.

"Yes, Captain, I'll make note of that."

Nigel stood and stretched the kinks out of his back. "Mr. Winslow, our hat, if you'd be so kind, sir."

Peter made short work of fetching the captain's hat. The feather and grosgrain encrusted hat was the captain's most prized possession, outside of _The Bullet, _of course.

"After you, Mr. Winslow." Nigel cocked his head.

* * *

Woody had to admit Cavanaugh was a slippery one. It's twice now he's had to wrestle a handmade shank from the kid and it's twice he's had the scratches to show it. 

The first time Jordan pulled a knife was when the Captain ordered Woody to quote "...scrub the pestilence of Port Royal civilization off our new cabin boy". Who would have thought the brat had such a privacy issue. After all, you've seen one pecker, you've seen them all. Woody ended having his hand bandaged while the captain agreed to let the newest member of the crew to bath below decks in the hold.

Even with him unarmed, Woody still having the devil's own time keeping Jordan from jumping back in the middle of the fray between Matt and Bug. It wasn't helping that Bug seemed determined to use Jordan's body as a shield between himself and Matt's musket.

"Would you just stand still, you cheating little bastard," Matt yelled waving he pistol precariously over Woody's shoulder. "I'm getting tired of chasing you around."

"Of course you whey-faced, addlepated weasel! You have SCRUVY! It makes you tired!" Bug argued.

"Nonsense! You just want to cheat us out of our due you...you...nit!" Matt yelled.

"The lack of acids in your system you boil-brained, dull-witted ass, is what's giving you your nose bleed. The gimlet will cure it!" Bug shot back.

"He's right!" Jordan added.

"You!" Woody pointed. "Stay out of this!"

"Why? Bug's right. There's something about citrus acid that treats scurvy. The rum cuts the taste. You can't let Matt throw him overboard."

"Nobody's going overboard," Woody said with a pained smile. "You can have my ration, Matt. Just give me the gun before the captain..."

"Do as he says you beslubbering, ill-breed malt-worm. I know what I'm talking about..."

* * *

"_Beslubbering!?"Jordan laughed over a rumble of thunder. She tossed her forensics journal on the night stand and tucked her feet underneath her._

"_Have you ever heard of a sailor who doesn't use colorful language?"_

"_I've picked up a few of my more creative phrases during Fleet Week...but 'boil-brained'?"_

"_We're talking about Matt Seeley here," Woody smiled impishly._

"_Point taken. So, what happened next?"_

* * *

Captain Townsend stood six foot four in his stocking feet. Add his four inch heals and the towering plumes on his hat and there was no missing him over the heads of the horde of sailors jockeying for position to view the show. Woody puffed out a haggard sigh. He could almost count on his hands and feet how many days he had left on this ship. He didn't need some plucky cripple and pair of pigheaded adversaries mess up his plans. 

"Mister Hoyt!"

The crew parted the Red Sea to make way for their captain. Knowing the show was all but over, many wandered back to the tasks at hand.

"Would you care to explain to us why our afternoon's solitude was so rudely interrupted?"

"Everything is under control Cap'in," Woody said, biting out each individual word. "There's just been a little misunderstanding. Nothing for you to be concerned about."

"If we've been unjustly torn away from our privacy then leave the plank where it is. Mr. Winslow will be taking a little stroll.."

"Sir. Mr. Seeley tried to kill Bug!" Jordan said, pushing her way passed Woody. "Just for trying to cure his scurvy and Hoyt was just going to stand by and let it happen!"

"...his puss-filled swag-bellied life..."

"That's enough, Bug," Woody warned.

"Master Cavanaugh. Since you are our new favorite, we shall excuse your naivety this once. Mr. Seeley would not do anything as base as killing Mr. Vijay. For he knows before Mr. Vijay's body hit the deck his own blood would be spilt and he'd be quickly joining him. Is that not correct Mr. Seeley...?" Nigel said, his cool tone contradicting the indulgent smile on his face.

"Yes, sir."

"Good!" Nigel clapped his hand one Matt's shoulder. "See Master Cavanaugh? There is much to learn about sailing on _The Bullet_. We'll have you minding your own business in now time. Now make yourself useful. Fetch us one of Mr. Vijay's fortifying gimlets. We must finish with our daily recountal..."

"...sir."

Jordan turned just in time to watch the bone blade; she had spent the last week and a half sharpening, arc over the rail and disappear into the sea.

"Don't make me regret bringing you on board, Cavanaugh," Woody hissed. "From now on, you keep your nose out of trouble and stick to washing the Captain's socks. At least until the man signs my papers and I've seen the last of this God-forsaken tub. After I'm gone you can plan a mutiny for all I care, but until then I don't even want to hear you breathe. Do we understand each other...?"

"Perfectly."

* * *

Nigel warmed the rum gimlet over a candle burning on his desk before lifting it to his lips. The heat helped cut the bitterness. Mr. Seeley did have a point. There was something wrong with diluting a perfectly, good rum with the sour acid of a lime...but it kept a sailor healthy enough to fight. He licked the end of his quill before he dipped it in the well... 

'Master Cavanaugh still proves to bring joy into our life each and every day. We admit we had our reservations when Mr. Hoyt fished him off the docks in Port Royal. It was sheer brilliancy on our part to assign Mr. Hoyt to keep an eye on our young mate. The way the lad torments Mr. Hoyt brings us nothing but entertainment. Mr. Hoyt is sadly lacking in humility. If we have to be regaled with his plans to forfeit his newly acquired freedom to farm a handful of dirt, grow his sugar and sire a passel of fat babies we may have to castrate him without second thought. No pirate worth his salt would last a week the confines of the land. Then again, Mr. Hoyt never really amounted to much of a pirate. Maybe its God's Wrath that he should be cursed with some mealy mouth female and spend the rest of his miserable existence longing for the sway of a good ship under his feet...'


	2. Something Wasn’t Right About Young Cavan

**Chapter Two**

**Something Wasn't Right About Young Cavanaugh**

_Jordan laughed throatily as Woody finished the last line from the "dread" pirate's log. She and Woody traded looks, hers sly and daring, his passionate and a response to her unspoken challenge. In a blur of motion he thumped the book down on the nightstand and had Jordan in his arms, pinned beneath him. She squirmed beneath him, which made him leer even more openly as he dipped his mouth to his ear, "What's so funny, Jor?"_

_She stopped thrashing beneath him – a more than slight disappointment to him – and cocked an eyebrow, her whiskey eyes dancing with mirth. "Are you serious?" She laughed, the vibration running through her body and straight into his, making Woody uncertain if he actually cared. "Siring a passel of fat babies? A mealy-mouthed female? Nigel the Dread Pirate was right – Hoyt should have been.."_

_Woody stopped her mouth with a kiss. He didn't exactly relish the thought of the word __**castrated**__ coming from Jordan's lips, not given their rather checkered history. It would be better for all concerned if he could make her forget that little recommendation. He pulled away when they were both breathing heavily. Laying his forehead on hers, he asked, "What's wrong with siring a passel of fat babies?"_ _His hand slid along her shoulder and down her arm, dancing across her body to doodle invisibly on her abdomen. He smiled to himself at the slight gasp she gave and the flush of her skin. "I can think of worse ways to spend a cold evening." He nuzzled her temple, kissing her hair. "Can't you?"_

"_Hmmm," was her only reply as she reached for him._

_As she drifted slowly into a satiated sleep, Woody, his arms around her, murmured, "Maybe we should read a little bit of this every night, savvy?"_

_She chuckled softly. "Savvy."_

_

* * *

Ah, the month of May on the open seas! Day twenty-five of such month, in the year of our Lord 1720, to be exact. We expect nothing so thrilling as the events of yesterday. Young Cavanaugh proved his worth with a spyglass when he noted a ship of His Majesty's fleet off our port bow. Though the battle was short and the plunder a bit meager for our liking, nonetheless, we did send our beloved King another sad message, one his governor will receive when the aforementioned ship limps its way into Port Royal. We allowed ourselves and the crew a small celebration last night as His Majesty's ship had been carrying a supply of rum. We suspect a few crewmen may have imbibed beyond their capacity. Mr. Seeley seemed out of sorts this morning. Neither the bright sunshine nor the lovely rocking of the spirited waves seemed to his liking. Young Cavanaugh, on the other hand, we have discovered must truly be one of our rebellious brothers from Erin, if not in fact at least in heritage and spirit. We do believe Mr. Hoyt was somewhat put out with the ability of Young Cavanaugh to consume such quantities of rum. Ah yes… such a source of entertainment those two do provide us! Our only real disappointment in Young Cavanaugh is that damned cloth he insists on wearing over his face. Disfigured by the pox, he says. If 'tis true, we salute him, for he does not seem to have enough years to have known so many ladies! The call of the sea draws us from our log…._

"Cap'n! Cap'n!" Mr. Seeley shouted as Nigel appeared above decks.

Nigel grinned to himself as the shouting caused Mr. Seeley to wince. "What is it now, Mr. Seeley? Has Mr. Vijay added something else to the rum which does not meet with your high standards?"

Matt Seeley stopped short, his face wrinkling in confusion.

"Children, children," clucked Nigel. "When will you learn to get along?"

Behind the captain, Bug spoke. "We're pirates. I don't think we're intended to get along."

The captain of the Bloody Bullet turned and gave Mr. Vijay a mild glare, before inclining his head slightly. "Well, yes, we suppose you have a valid argument." Nigel turned back toward Matt. "What was it, Mr. Seeley?"

Matt gulped. "It be – It be Sydney, Cap'n."

Nigel raised one eyebrow.

"Overboard," Seeley squeaked in a very un-pirate like fashion.

"Sydney has gone overboard? Good Lord, man, are you saying no one thought to stop and fish him from the sea?"

"Not Sydney," Matt managed. "His spyglass."

Nigel rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell!" The captain roared. "'Tis intolerable! 'Tis the third spyglass he's sent to Davy Jones' locker in the last month! We begin to think we should make spyglasses a priority when we do loot other vessels."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, sir…."

"Yes, yes," the dread pirate sighed. "It means we have only one remaining." Nigel looked around. "Where is Young Cavanaugh? He has the best eyes of all and his fingers seem not to be greased. We shall send him aloft in place of Sydney."

Young Cavanaugh was summoned and given the news. He scowled, or so it might have been assumed. Only his deep brown eyes showed above the cloth he wore to cover his facial scars. The lad had learned, however, not to question the orders of the captain himself. Those of Mr. Hoyt or any other of the assorted miscreants on board were always ripe for refusal, but Nigel made it very clear that he would brook no such insolence. Especially not when the possibility of booty and pillaging existed. With ill grace, Cavanaugh betook himself to the mast and began to climb.

The crew returned to their duties. All but Woody Hoyt. He watched the boy climb the rungs with a surefooted agility. Cavanaugh certainly had a fearless quality about him. Reckless, even. Not a quality which appealed to Woody Hoyt, to be sure. He wouldn't even be on this ship were it not for his own decidedly reckless brother, Calvin. How the imp thought he could have bested Captain Nigel Townsend in a game of dice was beyond Woody. That Calvin expected to do so playing with the captain's own dice in a tavern on Tortuga, where the captain was all but worshipped, was even more incredible. That was, however, Calvin's personality. Ever since they'd been orphaned as lads, their parents dying of one of the many island fevers, Woody had done his best to make a life for them, but Calvin had resisted every effort. This latest debacle saw Woody working off Calvin's debt to Nigel while Calvin had been packed up and sent home to cousins in England. Though hardly a youngster in need of being anyone's "ward", Woody hoped their sober parson cousin and his strict wife might exercise some restraint on the young man. At the very least, Woody might be able to get on with his own life.

His gaze drifted to the horizon which seemed to hold his elusive dreams. Just twenty- eight more days until his service on this blasted ship was finished. He'd return to Port Royal, find a sponsor and set himself up on one of the multitudinous islands dotting the Caribbean. He was determined to have one of the finest sugar plantations in the West Indies and, hopefully in a short time, he could seek the hand of one of the lovely, demur daughters of one of Port Royal's prosperous merchants. No more of this nomadic life, the ground never ground beneath a man, but water, ever changing, not worthy of his trust.

As if the sea had read his thoughts, a swell pitched the _Bullet_, throwing Woody against the mast. He cursed mildly and heard an answering chuckle above him. He glanced up. Young Cavanaugh was still making his way toward the crow's nest. "Get on with you!" Hoyt shouted. He stood and watched, making certain the lad obeyed.

As he watched he began to peer more closely. Something wasn't right with Young Cavanaugh. Woody snorted to himself. A great many things weren't right with the lad, but this… this was different. Woody struggled to put his finger on it. He squinted now, still searching for that thing which niggled at him.

"Been at sea a bit too long, Mr. Hoyt?"

Woody nearly jumped at the sound of Mr. Vijay's voice. "What? What do you mean?"

Bug gave a shrug. "Well, you do seem to be staring at Mr. Cavanaugh's arse."

Hoyt blushed to the roots of his dark hair and sputtered out that he most certainly was not. As Mr. Vijay moved off, shaking his head and laughing softly to himself, Woody realized that was exactly what he'd been doing. Which gave him more questions to ponder. Why would he stare at the lad's behind in such a fashion? True, he was hardly above a good look at the behinds of the ladies in Port Royal and even those on Tortuga, but those were _women_.

Woody looked up, a thought coming to him. "'Tis not possible," he breathed.


	3. You're a Girl!

**Chapter Three**

"**You're a Girl!"**

"_So Hoyt thought he was going just a little sea-wonky because he thought Cavanaugh was a girl, when she was supposed to be a boy, but was really a girl?" Jordan had to grin in open amusement at the set up._

"_Something like that," Woody replied, thumbing through the book to try to find another good spot to begin with tonight. This reading from _The Bloody Bullet: The Chronicles of the Dread Pirate, Nigel Townsend _had become a great way to wind down from the day, give them time with each other, and help Jordan relax._

"_So tell me, Detective Hoyt," she continued to tease, running a lazy finger up his chest as they lay in bed together, getting ready to read the next chapter, "can __**you**__ tell if a suspect is a female in male clothing by looking at her arse?"_

_Woody knew to side step that one. Big time. "The only arse I look at is yours," he replied, giving Jordan a quick kiss._

"_Good answer." She continued running her finger up and down his chest, watching his muscles flex in response. "That might just get you extra bonus-points in the bedroom tonight."_

_Woody set the book aside and raised an eyebrow. "Extra bonus points, huh? Maybe I should cash in now."_

"_Uh-uh." Jordan reached for the book. "First a chapter. Then you can cash in."_

* * *

Year of our Lord 1720, the thirtieth day of May. Skies are clear. Wind is from the north by northeast at a fine clip, the sails are taunt and 'tis a fine time to be a pirate on the high seas!

Young Cavanaugh continues to prove his worth as an able seaman. Since replacing Sydney with the lad as a lookout, we are happy to report that no more spyglasses have been lost overboard. Cavanaugh has a keen eye and a keen wit. We should be happy to keep him with us after this voyage…

"Cap'n!" A voice interrupted Nigel's daily discourse in his logs.

"What is it now Mr. Seeley?"

"Port Royal. Port side. Shall we make ready to put in?"

"Aye. We shall." Nigel shut the lid on his ink jar and blotted the page in his log book. He'd finish his report up when they boarded the boat again tonight. "'Tis been a long time since we've had land under our feet for any amount of time! Order the men up on deck."

"They're already there, Sir."

Putting his grosgrain plumed hat on his head, the captain joined his men on deck. Nigel slowly walked up and down the row of rag-tag men before he paused dramatically and began his speech.

"Today we are going to take leave of the ship to spend time in Port Royal. We know you will be on your best behavior and if any of you find yourselves in the stocks for any reason, please know that we will not come and bail you out. Drink to your hearts content, my lads. Spend time with the ladies. But do nothing to bring any suspicions to the decks of the Bloody Bullet. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Cap'n!"

"Good. We dismiss you. Be back on the boat by sunrise to cast off."

"Yes, Sir!"

Jordan hitched up her pants just a bit. She had a skinny enough backside to fit into a pair of boy's pants, but some of her curves still made keeping them up and in place a battle. Not to mention the issues they gave her when she had to relieve herself. Finally having the seams adjusted so they wouldn't cut her half, she made sure her "pox-cloth" was securely in place before heading down the gang-plank after the other men.

If she was lucky, really lucky, she could ditch Vijay, Seeley, and the other men without them realizing they'd been ditched. As far as she was concerned, it wouldn't be a difficult task. Men weren't the brightest candle in the box. Especially that Hoyt. That man got all over her last nerve and Jordan swore that if she heard one more thing about a "sugar plantation, a quiet woman, and fat little babies," she'd make Hoyt walk the plank herself. At sword point.

Nervously she looked around the Port Royal docks. This was her first time off the pirate ship since Captain Townsend had hired her as a cabin boy. There was security on that boat she didn't have on land. At least in the boat she knew where to hide if things got too tense or the men got too inquisitive. And she knew who she was dealing with. As long as she was did her job and did it well, Captain Townsend, Mr. Vijay, and Mr. Seeley left her alone. Hoyt was the one she had to watch.

Not that she minded much. Jordan chuckled to herself. He was actually kind of easy on the eyes, if she had been looking for a man. And he had a certain naivety that she wouldn't mind helping him shed. Again, if she had been looking for a man for romantic reasons. Which she wasn't. Not anymore, at least.

However, she was looking for one particular man. Garret Macy. Her friend, her confident, her mentor, her big brother figure. Ever since her father had left for parts unknown and JD had sailed away into the sunset never to return, Garret had been her rock. Steadfast and loyal, he had served as both her physician and sounding board as she had taken over the management of her father's rum distillery.

But then one day, he had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. Several weeks later Jordan had finally received a note from him, saying that his daughter, Abby, had run away. She had been spotted at some pirate's port with a gang of "unsavory" men. Garret had sailed after her and would return as soon and if he retrieved his daughter.

Jordan had snorted as soon as she read the note. She knew Abby Macy and she knew the girl would lead her father on a merry chase that would leave him a broken man -- physically, emotionally, and financially. Abby had done this before and would do it again.

And Jordan couldn't allow it to happen. So she did what in her mind was the next most logical thing. She hopped a pirate's ship herself and went sailing after Garret. Dressed in boy's clothing, her long, curling, brown hair secured under a cap and her "pox cloth" in place, she showed up at the docks when Captain Townsend was hiring his next crew. Hoyt, bless him, had started on her then, goading her that she wasn't old enough or big enough or strong enough to be on a pirate's ship.

Mind you, Hoyt thought she was a boy. So Jordan gave as good as she got, calling him an equal amount of bad names. Later she had been mildly mortified at herself, but the fighting and taunting between she and Hoyt had amused the Captain enough that she was hired on the spot.

She readjusted her "pox-cloth" one more time before she entered the nearest bar. She alone knew Garret's weakness and prayed that he was strong enough not to let it get the best of him now while he was searching for Abby and Jordan was searching for him.

* * *

By the time the sun was kissing the horizon, Jordan had checked the dozen or so bars in Port Royal to no avail. No sign of Garret in any of them and no one she had talked to had seen him.

Not that the clientele of such establishments were talkative folk. Jordan learned early you had to be careful how you asked and who you asked. She groaned a little as she dragged her tired arse up the gang plank and back onto the Bloody Bullet, wondering just a little if she had made a terrible mistake by hopping this pirate ship and going after Garret. There were dozens and dozens of pirate-hole ports. Probably hundreds of bars. At any given time, he could be anywhere. Despondently, she turned the corner to go to a small storage room she had found. It was empty, save for a few baskets and old lanterns. When she needed a few minutes to herself to get her bearings, she would take advantage of its solitude. As far as she knew, she was the only crew member that knew about the small room, let alone used it.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Jordan groaned. Hoyt. Of all the crew, why did it have to be the man that got on her last nerve? "What's it to you, Hoyt?"

"The Captain wants you back up in the crows nest with your spyglass." He motioned towards the mast with his head.

"Really? Since when did you become the Captain's messenger boy?" she sneered.

"Since he asked me to come and get you. Now are you going to do it or do I have to make you?" He took a threatening step towards her.

"I'd like to see you try, you arse hole."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me." Woody made a dive for Jordan about the same time the ship rolled on a wake. Between the tussle and the loll of the boat, they both lost their balance and tumbled into the storage room, the door slamming behind them.

And locking.

The latch handle on the outside came down and fastened the door shut, leaving Jordan and Woody at the mercy of some crew member that might pass by.

"What do we do now?" Woody asked, after repeatedly ramming his shoulder into the door to try to get the wood to give.

"We yell," Jordan retorted. "Help! Let us out!"

"That's not going to work," he answered in a clipped tone, all the while rubbing his sore shoulder. "There's still not that many men back on board. No one will hear us now. We're just going to have to wait."

Flummoxed, Jordan leaned against the wall of the small room to wait. Of all the things she hated to do on this ship, all the positions she hated to be in, this one topped it all -- locked in this small storage room with the bane of her existence. "If you hadn't been such a wise arse, this would have never happened," she flung at Woody.

"Well, if you would just do as you were told…."

"And who gave you the right to order me around, Hoyt?"

"I was delivering a message from Captain Townsend."

"Yeah, right. I just bet you were."

"Look Cavanaugh, let's get one thing straight. I don't like you. You don't like me. But we're stuck on this boat together for twenty-one more days before I can take my leave of this ship and all these blasted pirates…"

"I know, I know. Then you're going to go off and get that sugar plantation, marry that quiet woman, and have a passel of fat, little native babies. I've heard the story, Hoyt. One too many times."

The irritation of the situation – him, her, and a much too small room – was getting to Jordan. Resolutely she shut her mouth and turned away from Woody before she said something she may regret later. Or rather Hoyt making her regret for the next twenty-one more days.

Woody eyed Jordan carefully from behind. Even in the dim light of the storage room, something didn't seem right. It was that same feeling he got when he watched this cabin boy climb the mast the other day. This might cost him a tooth or two, but it would be worth the loss. Gritting his teeth in determination, he took a deep breath slapped Cavanaugh on the arse.

And was rewarded with an open-handed slap to the face.

"You're a girl!" It came out of his mouth without a second thought.

Jordan sucked in a deep breath and worked hard to cover her secret. "Am not."

"Yes, you are. If you were a man, you would have decked me with your fist, not a slap."

"That doesn't mean anything, Hoyt. And what kind of _pervert _are you to go around slapping a boy's arse? I have a good mind to tell the Cap'n about you." It was all bluff and bravado, but it was all Jordan had at the moment.

"I'd tell him that any bad luck that becomes _The Bloody Bullet_ is your fault, because you're a girl." And with a quick raise of his hand and a flick of his wrist, Jordan saw her "pox cloth" flutter to the floor of the small storage room quickly followed by her hat that kept her long brown curls up and in place

She never heard Woody suck in a deep breath. _Damn. He's not only a she….she's beautiful…_While the boy's clothes did full justice to her curves, that cloth and hat had covered exquisite feminine features that, in Woody's opinion, should have never been concealed. The honey-brown eyes, he was more than familiar with. But the small nose, high cheekbones, and possibly the most kissable mouth he had ever seen took the wind out of his sails.

Suddenly he realized why the "Cabin Boy Cavanaugh" had rankled him so much. It wasn't that she was smart and able; it was that he had been fighting an attraction he did not want to define. And now he felt that tension float away with the northeast wind that rocked the ship.

At least he did. Another glance at Jordan told Woody that she was _furious_. "How dare you?" she hissed. "Do you know what you've just done?"

And it occurred to Woody, that for once in his tedious voyage with the Dread Pirate Nigel Townsend, he was in control. He had discovered Jordan was a girl. And women were known to bring bad luck on a ship. Any pirate worth his rum knew that. All Woody would have to do is prove to the Cap'n that Jordan was a girl, and Townsend would put her out at the next port.

Woody took another deep breath and steadied his voice before answering. "No. But I know what you've done. And unless you can tell me why you're here and what you're doing on a pirate's ship, you and your arse will be portside next docking."

"That's none of your business, Hoyt."

:"It is now." He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. The room was so small, they were still nearly touching in the confined area. "You're not going anywhere until I get the full story. Does your father, brother, or any other man know what you're doing and where you're at?"

Jordan swallowed hard and tucked her long hair back behind her ear. A decidedly feminine gesture that didn't escape Woody's notice. "Men. Why do men always think that they've got to know everything and everywhere a woman goes?"

He bit back a snort. "Because. It's not safe. So answer my question. Does your father know where you're at?"

His voice was unrelenting and hard. Jordan knew that if she was going to win Woody back over to her side and have his help keeping her secret, he was going to have to know some of the details of her life. "No."

"Then you're a run away…"

She shook her head. "I'm not a run away. My father is." She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and her voice. "My father, Max Cavanaugh, owns….owned a rum distillery. One day he decided he had had enough of the business and its never ending details. He signed the distillery over to my husband and me and left. I haven't heard from him since."

_Husband? Dear God…_ Woody fought to keep his jaw off the floor. "Does your _husband_ know what you're doing?" His voice rose. _Does he care? Because if he doesn't he's a crazy man…if I had a wife that looked like you, the last place she would be was on a boat with a bunch of pirates. More than likely, you'd be in my bed most of the time…_

Jordan could have slapped herself. In her flustered state, her marital status had slipped out. She had never planned to give Hoyt that bit of information. "No," she answered again.

"Then why in the hel…" Woody stopped and censored himself. Despite the fact Jordan was on a pirate ship, she was still a woman. And a man, a polite man, didn't swear in front of any woman.

"I'm a widow." Her voice cut through his anger like a cold blade.

"A widow?"

She nodded. "My husband…JD Pollack…had a bit of a wondering spirit about him," she chuckled bitterly. "He was a merchant sailor. He kept promising to stay home with me and help run the distillery, but every time a boat sailed with a good voyage, he was on it. The last trip he went on was supposed to last six months. He's been gone two years and is presumed dead."

Jordan kept her eyes lowered, not daring to look at Woody yet. The recitation about JD was factual, and carried no emotion. The truth was, Jordan didn't think she had ever really loved the man. She had married JD because that was what women of her station did at a certain point of their lives – married, settled down, and had babies. Much like Woody wanted that demur native girl to do for him.

"Oh." Woody blew out a deep breath. "But that still doesn't explain _why_ you're on this ship."

"I'm looking for someone."

"A pirate?"

Jordan shook her head again. "No. A man. A man named Garret Macy."

"Garret Macy?"

Jordan looked up expectantly. "You have heard of him?" A tingle of hope ran through her.

"No." Woody pinched the bridge of his nose. "I haven't heard of this Garret Macy."

She visibly deflated, having what little bit of expectation she had feel the pin prick of disappointment. "I have to find him, Hoyt."

Woody's eyes narrowed. "Why? What is this man to you?" _Fiancé? Lover? What?_

She lowered eyes again and watched her fingers try to tie themselves together in knots. Jordan had opened her mouth to tell him everything when the Cap's voice was heard outside, along with Mr. Vijay's. "We can get out now. Everyone's coming back." She tried to move Woody off of the door.

"No way. Not until you promise to go with me and both of us tell the Cap'n the truth."

"No!"

"Yes. If the crew finds out you're a woman, there's no way anyone can guarantee your safety."

"I can't!"

"Yes, you can. And you are." Woody took Jordan by the arm and started to bang on the door."

"I don't think so." A sly smile suddenly crossed Jordan's face.

"What?"

"Remember Hoyt…you're the one who told Townsend to hire me. In the end, if the Cap'n finds out I'm a girl, he'll think you orchestrated this whole thing. He'll extend your service on this ship for another year or longer. It may be quite a while before you get that sugar plantation, quiet little wife, and have those fat babies."

* * *

June the fifth, year of our Lord 1720….

Nigel began his next log entry, still befuddled over the last few days.

The winds are at a good clip, still out of the north by northeast. The rum and water are holding, although we are getting tired of Mr. Vijay's insistence that we mix it with lime juice. But all is going well and we are ahead of schedule.

However, we are ready to put Hoyt out at the next port. His behavior these past few days has been out of character. Ever since he and the young Cavanaugh accidentally got locked in the storage room together, Hoyt seems all out of sorts. Mr.Vijay made a comment to us about Mr. Hoyt's tastes and morals, but we insisted that despite the fact that Hoyt is a miserable pirate, he is a good man. We would allow no such behavior on this ship. We do have standards.

Whatever has transpired between the lad Cavanaugh and Mr. Hoyt remains a mystery at this time. We are sad to report that whatever it was, it has taken the joy out of watching those two together. They no longer fight, but are very short with each other. We hope that they will set aside their problems soon and resume their regular, entertaining behavior. We do so sadly miss it.


	4. Watch that First Step

**Chapter 4**

**Watch That First Step**

_Woody plumped the pillows behind his shoulders and reached for the book on the night stand. Jordan slid into bed beside him as he was opening to the last dog-eared page. Ask him two weeks ago if he'd spend an unnaturally large portion of his days looking forward to these quiet moments and he would have laughed and said that tall tales were best served over Guinness and darts. Not in the bedroom. What a difference a fortnight could make. Then again it wasn't all that long ago he would have laughed at the idea of Jordan being in his bed in first place._

"_Let's see, we left Young Cavanaugh up to her "arse" in trouble and asking Hoyt to help her out..."_

"_You mean blackmailing him because he force her hand when he couldn't keep his to himself, the letch."_

"_Letch...?"_

"_Philanderer, pervert, debaucher...pedophiliac..."_

"_Don't you think you're being a little harsh?"_

"_Okay, a little, but for all Hoyt knew he was putting the moves on a kid with a shapely... arse."_

"_Putting the moves on her?" Woody argued. "He slapped her on the butt as an investigative tool. If he ended up missing a tooth or two he'd know Cavanaugh was indeed hiding something. But she slapped him like a girl...and he had his answer." _

"_Leaving her vulnerable enough to blackmail him...the letch." _

_Woody smiled warmly and set the book down between them. In gesture both absent and intimate, he trailed his fingers over the tips of her hair wrapping one of the long curls around his index finger. "He liked what he saw very much. She was gorgeous, one of those beautiful women that could have the choice of any man she wanted and probably did. He'd be a liar or a eunuch to say he was immune, even through her...disguise." _

_His hand didn't stop there and soon his fingers tangled around the back of her neck. He was going to kiss her, but before he could, Jordan treated him to her sexist smile. "If you keep that up and the chapter's going to be a short one tonight..." _

"_Then maybe we ought to save it for next time..." he purred against the corner of her jaw._

_With him distracted, Jordan snatched the book and flipped open the pages. "Yeah ...right," she countered wickedly. _

"_Wait. Give that back."_

"_It's my turn to read," Jordan smiled. "Why should you get to have all the fun?"_

"_You have fun too," he said, tracing the collar of her camisole top with his finger tip. "...and more than once if I can hit that right spot."_

"_Hmmm," She rolled her eyes, slapping his hand away. "Well, you left Young Cavanaugh compromised, resorting to blackmail, and if I'm not mistaken, very empty handed too."_

"_Face the facts, Jordan, Woody said flopping back on his pillows. "She's in over her head and needs help to find Garret."_

"_That's your version. Let ME see if I can put my own twist on the story of the dread pirate Townsend."_

"_Why do I have a feeling Hoyt's not going to like this?" he conceded with a sigh. _

"_O' ye of little faith. Now where we? Oh, yeah..."_

* * *

_June the tenth, year of our Lord 1720._

_We have requested all hands on deck and all sheets to be raised. Praise be on The Highest that favorable winds are guiding us to our port-of-call, for they are also ushering in what looks to be a formidable weather system to our aft. The Bullet 'tis living up to her glorious name by flying through the seas as if she had wings. 'Tis as if the bloody barnacles themselves be sucking in their bellies in effort to secure safe port before the coming blow. O' the exhilaration reminds us of why we answered the seductive siren's call of the sea in the first place!_

* * *

"Look alive mateys!" Nigel called to his crew. "Mr. Winslow! Fetch Master Cavanaugh. We need him aloft. Tortuga should be within our sights by midday. We need the lad's keen eyes to navigate us around Neptune's bloody reefs before they can cut The Bullet the shreds." 

"Jordan!" Peter yelled. "The captain wants you on lookout!"

"Aye-aye," she shouted back.

Woody looked up from his position manning the starboard rigging to hear Jordan heed the call. He stopped her before she could get two steps past him.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "It's too dangerous up there for a woma..."

"Shut-up before you get the both of us in trouble," she snapped before the word could escape his mouth. "Besides, I've been climbing that mast for weeks now."

"But not at full sail," Woody said looking around the deck. "The lines, the cloth, the speed...you're not equipped to handle it."

"When you say the word _equipped_ I'm assuming you mean because I don't have a _dick_." she shot back.

"If you want to put it that crudely, yes," he bit out, his grip on her wrist still firm. "Just go back to the bow; I'll be the skipper's lookout."

"Mister Hoyt!" Nigel bellowed irritably from his spot on deck. "Would you please unhand our Young Master Cavanaugh so he can get on with it?"

"Cap'n, I'll take his watch...sir." Woody called back. "Mr. Cavanaugh isn't experienced enough in these conditions."

"Nonsense. Master Cavanaugh is highly adaptable and has our finest eyes."

Woody looked in to Jordan honey warm eyes. They were the finest on this Godforsaken ship, but not for the reasons the captain was referring. The wind pressed her veil close to her skin, outlining the shape of her jaw, reminding him of the soft flawless skin underneath it. He felt a kick of apprehension in his gut.

"Let me go," she hissed.

Woody smiled tightly, torn between disregarding the captain's orders and facing whatever consequences later and unmasking her for the whole ship to see. It was the kind of smile you gave when you were anything but pleased. He muttered something undistinguishable under his breath and let her go.

"Aye, Cap'n," he shouted.

"Make haste, Master Cavanaugh," Nigel said as Jordan scrambled up the line of the main mast, "before Mr. Hoyt forgets his place again."

Woody held his breath as Jordan climbed the rigging. He knew one false snap of the sails and she could be thrown down onto the deck like a child's rag doll. He said a little prayer to a God he'd given up on for having overlooked him the last few years.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jordan was saying a few prayers of her own. She's never been a fan of heights. She'd persuaded herself to tolerant of the crow's nest because of the freedoms it afforded her. The distance between the perch and the decks gave her a marginal amount of privacy and space from the crew. After awhile, even the climb became easier. 

On the other hand, this particular climb bordered on the ridiculous. The winds being kicked up by the approaching storm were whipped through the extra sheets producing gusts that almost took her breath away. Maybe she should have let Hoyt take the watch after all. She glanced down at the deck and saw him watching her very move.

Hoyt. _Woody._ What a name? She'd heard her father's friends refer to a certain part of their anatomy as a "woody". After a liter or two of his famous rum, of course. But she'd never met a man who openly called himself by the moniker before. Or at least in front of polite company.

"But since when have pirates been considered proper company?" she laughed to herself. "And that certainly goes for _Hoyt_."

Hand over hand, foot over foot. She slid across the cross bar of the mast to climb the last section to the crow's nest.

"Why couldn't he have just left me alone?" She muttered into the wind. _And why did he have to have eyes the color of the Caribbean at sunrise?_

"You do not need to be thinking about his eyes, Jordan," she all but yelled at herself.

Her voice must have carried for Nigel called up. "You'll have to speak up Master Cavanaugh. We are not lip readers."

"Nothing to report Cap'n!" She shouted back down.

"Then let's not dilly-dally. On with it, young man. These waters have taken more then its fair share of ships."

"Aye."

"_Aye_." she mumbled looking back down at the bane of her existence. He was still there, watching her, like he was willing her to fall. "I bet you'd just like that won't you, you..._pirate_."

It would make his life easier if she did fall. At least until his bond was worked off. Hoyt made sure everyone with in the sound of his voice knew he was disembarking in a matter of days...along with his inane chatter about fat plantations and sugar babies.

Or was that sugar plantations and fat babies? After awhile she developed the knack of shutting him out.

That was until they found themselves locked in the closet. Jordan shook her head at her own stupidity. She'd been so distracted and so discouraged by Garret's absence that she let her guard down and her secret was found out.

Extortion wasn't her first choice. If they'd been on deck she would have simply pushed him overboard and been done with. Jordan wasn't blood-thirsty by nature, but this was _a pirate_ _ship _after all. She had much more to lose than Hoyt.

Granted, she him by the balls while they where on board The Bloody Bullet, but the second the walked off, he'd have her at his mercy.

The less people who knew about this adventure of hers the better off she'd be. As a widow she was granted a certain amount of personal freedom...but talking herself onto a pirate's ship was something even her marital status couldn't overcome.

All Jordan wanted to do was find her friend, bring him home where he belonged, and settle into her role as proprietress of one of the largest distilleries in the Caribbean. She didn't want some tall, blue-eyed reminder come back and haunt her later.

"Well, I won't give you the satisfaction of dieing today, _Mister_ Hoyt. You will help me find Garret and then..."

A sudden snap of the sails knocked Jordan against the rigging, tearing her hat off, sending it, and her veil, tumbling to the decks below.

"Jordan!"

She heard his yell even as it was being carried away with the wind.

"Woody!" she screamed as her grip on the line began to fail.

The sail struck her one last time and all she was holding on to was air.

* * *

"_It says here that 'Commock, er, Cavanaugh left the mortal binds of this world when he hit the rail on the way down.'"_

"_...oh." _

_Jordan stared at the page for a full minute before she spoke. "It must be a typo..."_

"_It's the only explanation," Woody nodded. _

* * *

Jordan hit the water with a scream and plunged deeper and deeper. The impact knocked the wind out of her and left her totally disoriented. 

She failed. She took a chance and failed. Lost at sea. Just like JD. Would there be anyone who would mourn her passing?

"Well, damn," Nigel said, looking over the rail. He swept his hat off in respect and said, "We shall miss Mr. Cavanaugh. He did have a way with our socks. Somebody please tell us that the spyglass was saved."

A second call of 'man overboard' echoed of the decks. Nigel muttered something about making sure his next crew was a little more nibble footed.

"Cap'n! Cap'n! Mr. Hoyt just jumped in after Cavanaugh!" Seeley yelled pointing at the water. "Broad on the quarter...There! I see them!"

"Oh. Bloody. Hell. All hands look lively. Hard to port, Mr. Vijay. Cut the main sail! Keep your eyes sharp! With all this bloody sheeting in the wind we need every available set of hands and some. We can ill afford to lose TWO able bodies. Mr. Seeley, remind us to keel haul Mr. Hoyt and his _impertinence_ at our earliest convenience, but 'til then we need to fish them out of the drink so we have enough hands to see us to port."

* * *

Jordan opened her eyes one last time and saw JD's ghost swimming within her view. He was coming to take her to the same watery grave that claimed him. There was no need to fight it. Death would be an escape from a life that suddenly seemed too lonely and dark. She made peace with her fate as his arm wrapped around her waist 


	5. A Sticky Wicket

**The news today stunk --CJ is cancelled. We hope this little chapter helps everyone feel some better. WoJo can always live on in fanfic.Chapter 5**

**A Sticky Wicket**

Jordan drifted in the water, her long hair streaming behind her, then swirling around her, and then flowing once more with the current. She felt oddly buoyant and so peaceful. Had she known this is how it would be, she might have surrendered before now and given up a fight that had seemed increasingly worthless.

She gasped when her head broke the surface of the sea. Water spewed from her mouth as she coughed in great, hacking spasms. This was not exactly what she'd expected of the afterlife. A gentle breeze and soft cloud, some harp music… oh, well perhaps she had miscalculated about where she would spend her eternity.

She decided she'd best question her not entirely lamented late husband, who seemed, quite rudely, to be shaking her rather roughly. "Pollack! J.D.!"

"Oh, thank the Good Lord," he said. His voice was not as she recalled it. Then again, she recalled little of the man, sad to say. She didn't recall his having been quite so prone to… shaking her!

"J.D.!" She shouted again. "Stop shaking me!" She blinked. Again.

"Who?"

Jordan gave a water-laden sigh. "I'm not dead, then?"

Woody Hoyt shook his head at her.

Far better than shaking me, she thought. "But – the mast – the wind…I fell."

He smiled, his dimples indenting the corners of his mouth, making her heart flip, even as she told herself it was the fall, the near- drowning and the bobbing in the water watching the _Bullet_ make her way back toward them. "I jumped in after you."

"Why?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Why? What do you mean why?"

"Just as I said, Mr. Hoyt. Why? 'Twould have been far easier on you to let the sea claim me."

It was his turn to gasp. "That – That would have been tantamount to murder! No matter what you may think of me, Miss Cavanaugh… You think I'd let another of God's creatures drown?"

"I – Um – I suppose not," she sputtered.

"You suppose not? Have you not enough proof before you?"

"Yes. I… That is… it was gallant and brave of you, Mr. Hoyt. I'm in your debt."

The _Bullet_ had approached close enough for the men to toss a line. With a shout of "Ahoy!" the rope was thrown. Woody turned his head and caught it. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around Jordan's waist and grabbed hold of the end of the twisted hemp with the other hand.

They both scissor kicked as several of the men aboard hauled them in. As they reached the ladder, Woody turned toward her. "You're not in my debt, Miss Hoyt. I did what any man ought to do. I suspect, however, neither of us will find ourselves in the captain's good graces."

Jordan gave a weak smile before preceding him up the ladder.

Nigel was already in full recital by the time the soaked, disheveled, breathless refugees were both on board. He faced the bow, not deigning to regard either of them and discoursed mightily. "We might forgive you, Young Cavanaugh, for your rather lax attention to footing. The wind is a bit high today. But Mr. Hoyt! To so blithely attempt to affect a rescue of our wayward cabin boy and thus deprive us of…."

Nigel realized that behind him the crew was silent. Deadly silent. That was unusual, even for his crew. Slowly, the captain turned.

Few people in God's creation – strike that, none in God's creation – had ever seen Nigel Townsend, Terror of the High Seas, Captain of The Bloody Bullet, Dread Dualist, the Casanova of the Caribbean-

* * *

_"Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?" Woody's dimples dented the corner of his mouth just as fetchingly as the pirate in Jordan's imagination. _

She shrugged and winked at him. "You don't think Nige – or his pirate forebear – would be all those things?"

"And more," he agreed, chuckling, snaking out a finger to play with her curls. "But I'm a little more interested in seeing how Hoyt and Cavanaugh are going to talk their way out of this."

"Really?"

"Um-hmm."

"Maybe they're not going to talk their way out of it. Maybe they're going to sweep it under the proverbial rug and-"

Woody groaned. "God forbid, please, no. Anything but that!"

"Anything?" She teased.

"Let Nigel clap them in leg irons, put them ashore on some small, deserted, palm-infested island, impress them into service for another year… anything but sweeping it under the proverbial rug."

"Oh," she murmured warmly. "I think Nigel might have other ideas for them." She smiled, her look sultry and sly. "If you'd care to hear them, that is?"

A shudder ran through his body. One finger still wrapped around a lock of her hair, he nodded.

"Well, then…."

* * *

-the Casanova of the Caribbean… none had ever seen Nigel Townsend speechless. That moment the earth might have opened and swallowed the ship, a kraken from the deep might have arisen and cracked her from stem to stern, one of His Majesty's vessels might have approached offering amnesty for all aboard and not a single member of the crew would have taken note. For in that moment, Captain Townsend was speechless.

His jaw dropped, the feather in the crown of his magnificent hat seemed to lose its starch, his very posture, which under even the most strenuous of circumstances belied a certain diabolical poise, sagged. He took in the sight before him, his eyes running the length of… of her frame. The skinny lad was not at all a skinny lad, but a lass. A stunningly pretty one, her bedraggled state notwithstanding. There was a bit to be said for sea-soaked clothing. Well, more than a bit in her case.

Her bedraggled state. Her case. Her…

Nigel Townsend found his voice. He roared, "There's a bloody woman on our ship!"

Mr. Hoyt had the temerity – the temerity – to roll his eyes at the captain. Townsend was more than tempted to tell Hoyt his service was at an end now. Today. And send him off the plank. But… the lass aside, it would be murder for the purpose of nothing more than venting the captain's spleen and Nigel did have his principles. Or superstitions, more accurately. One being the one all sea-going men held – a woman on board was evil luck; another being unprovoked killing was also pure bad luck. The captain found himself in a  
sticky wicket. And he loathed croquet. Croquet might have been one of the early factors influencing his choice of a life at sea!

It helped clear his head, so he roared again. "Why is there a bloody woman on our ship?"

"Because Hoyt fetched her out of the drink," came Mr. Seeley's response.

"Cretin!" The captain exclaimed. "We know that!"

"Well, he fetched her out so she wouldn't drown," Bug put in helpfully, he hoped.

His hope was unfounded. "We know that, too! We mean why is Young Cavanaugh – Mr. Cavanaugh as we were led to believe – suddenly Miss Cavanaugh?"

"Sir, I suspect he was always Miss Cavanaugh. What I mean is-" Sydney's blithering explanation wasn't helping either.

"I disguised myself," Jordan told him, stepping forward. "I needed to get to Tortuga and I knew no one would take me there knowing I was a woman."

"So you and Hoyt concocted this scheme to fool us?"

Jordan shook her head. "Mr. Hoyt had nothing to do with it. He didn't know I was – wasn't… He didn't know."

Nigel eyed Woody again and took a few mincing steps toward him, letting his glaze take in the soaked seaman from toe to dripping top. "He knew before you went into the drink, we'll wager."

"I figured-"

"He figured it out when he saw me fall. My veil and cap came off. He saw my hair."

The captain looked from one to the other. Jordan's face was pale and she trembled. Due to the cold, wet condition of her garments, she'd probably say anything if asked. Hoyt's eyes were defiant, his back rigid.

The captain wondered a bit maliciously if that were the only thing rigid at the moment. Whatever the girl said, Hoyt had known before she fell and the defiant look only barely covered a more primal one – lust.

"I'll depart at Tortuga, Captain. I always intended to." Slowly drawing his gaze from Hoyt back to the lass, Nigel raised a brow. "And what is so urgent that you disguise yourself, risk bad luck to this crew, and sail to such a place as Tortuga?"

"A friend. A man like a father to me." Nigel laughed heartily. "My dear, any man you might find on Tortuga is one you would not wish to consider a father."

She sighed. "He was going there to search for his own daughter. She'd run off."

"My, my," Nigel clucked his tongue. "You do know a fascinating set of people, don't you, Miss Cavanaugh?"

"None so fascinating as your crew," she spat back, tiring of his condescension and sarcasm. "He is the physician in Port Royal. The Governor's wife denied him permission to search for Abigail, his daughter, so he defied her and went anyway. Surely you can appreciate a man's … rebellion against an unjust act."

"Oh, yes, we appreciate any man's rebellion against the Crown and all its agents, but we do not your appreciate your role in this."

"I know where she is! I have to find Garret and tell him, tell him he can come back to Port Royal, tell him why Renee, the Governor's wife, forbade him to leave in the first place." A sharp glimmer came into her eyes. "I've a feeling you'd love to hear her little secret."

"Yes, well, we do love secrets, don't we?" Nigel's dark eyes sharpened as hers had. "Most of them, that is. Tell us the governor's wife's secret and if it amuses us enough, we make keep you aboard long enough to reach Tortuga."

"You will keep her aboard," Hoyt interjected. "Anything else is murder, Townsend, and you know it!"

Nigel turned his head, letting his chin drop to show his bored contempt. "All right, all right. We'll keep her aboard. But we still want to know the secret. Perhaps we could find a way to replenish our pockets when next in Port Royal."

Jordan told him. "The Governor took Abigail with him when he sailed to England. He prefers… ladies younger than his wife."

"So she is a woman scorned and took her vengeance on the father?"

"Not entirely. She is – is in love with Garret and seemed to think that she could console him, lessen his fears for his child and in so doing, that he would reciprocate her emotions."

"That's reprehensible!" Woody cried out.

"And it's why I must find Garret. He'll still worry over Abigail – and rightly so – but at least he'll know that she is safe. Somewhat."

"Fine, then. Yes. We'll think on what you've told us and find a way to put it to good use when next in that lovely port. We doubt this Governor's wife has need of her fancy jewels and such."

"Good. Then if you don't mind, Captain, I'd like to change into dry  
clothing."

"But we do mind, Miss Cavanaugh."

Jordan groaned.

Nigel pulled himself up to his full height. He was back fully in command – of his ship and his demeanor. "We still have one insurmountable problem."

"We'll be in Tortuga in a few short hours. I'll leave the Bullet and never come back, I swear on my mother's soul. As it is, I think the only person to whom any evil befell this sailing was myself."

"We're not talking about that superstition, lass. No, we mean something far – different."

"Townsend, just say it!" Hoyt exploded. "We're both cold and soaked to the bone here. We could stand here all day drying off while listening to your eccentric ravings, but I think we'd both prefer the speedier method."

"Tut, tut, Mr. Hoyt, where have your manners gone? You are still a member of our crew, are you not? And as such you do owe us deference!"

"I'm a member of your crew for another twelve hours further and no more – less if we make better time to Tortuga. As for deference? Lad or lass, your first concern when Jordan fell was your damned spyglass! So please simply state your newest concern and let us disperse."

"Very well," Nigel shrugged his shoulders. "Miss Cavanaugh is a woman. An unmarried woman. She has spent the last months on our ship, surrounded by our crew. Her reputation will be ruined."

"I don't care," Jordan responded tiredly. "I'm not the sort of woman who ever has cared for such things, not really."

"Well, we care."

"You're a – a – bloody pirate!"

Nigel looked affronted. "Yes. And as such, we have our standards!"

"Standards!" Jordan was huffing with anger. "You – You pillage!

You burn other ships! You thieve! I daresay you visit 'fancy ladies' when you put in at Tortuga!"

"But we do not sully the good names of ladies from the… shall we say… the upper echelons of society."

She snorted. "My father made rum. I make rum. Hardly the upper echelons of society."

"But enough that you married once because women of your station are expected to," came Hoyt's soft reminder.

Jordan winced and then laid her head in her hands. She looked up after a moment. "Really, Captain, my reputation will hardly suffer. If you but knew-"

"You're right. 'Twill hardly suffer." Nigel eyed his crew speculatively. "We cannot ignore that a woman on board is evil luck, but we can rectify her martial status."

"What?" Jordan screeched.

"We are the captain of the ship and we have a full complement of able bodied seamen…well, Mr. Hawhaw being excepted due to his unfortunate encounters with a comely but infected lass…and Mr. Slokum on account of his only having the one eye – wouldn't want the other popping out at inopportune moments…and of course Mr. Haley; the loss of his tongue might be more of a displeasure than it normally is-"

"The parrot could help out," Mr. Seeley put in, trying to be helpful.

Nigel pondered that. "We think – perhaps tis best to move on…so, you see, Miss Cavanaugh, We've a… nearly full complement of able bodied seamen who would be more than willing to step forward, do what is required of a man in such circumstances and wed you!" The captain swept his gaze across his assembled crew who looked nearly as dazed as Jordan.

Looking as dazed as Jordan would have been impossible.

"Well, then, lads. Come along. Who will step forward? Bad luck she may be, but she is lovely to look on. And, if we understood her a-right, has a rum distillery that must be of some concern. Look lively, lads!" The lads finally complied.

They all took one step backward.

Except Woody, who watched in stupefaction as his shipmates executed their maneuver.

Nigel smiled. "Excellent! Fitting, we'd venture so far as to say. Now then…Miss Cavanaugh and Mr. Hoyt…shall we step to the bow? We always think a wedding at the bow is the most romantic on ship!"

"I'll walk the plank!" Jordan offered.

"I'm a strong swimmer – I can make Tortuga on my own!" came Woody's simultaneous shout.

"Now, now, children! Come along! It's a beautiful day for nuptials." Nigel smiled and turned his face toward the cloudy sky. "Absolutely perfect."

Shuffling, pushed forward by the crew, who never objected to a good bit of the captain's entertainment, the bride-to-be and her groom approached the altar, also known as the bow. Jordan wondered if jumping would do her any good. Hoyt would probably jump in after her, doing little more than getting them both soaked again and prolonging what Nigel seemed to insist was inevitable.

"This isn't quite what I'd pictured in my mind," Woody muttered.

"At least I can breathe this time," Jordan retorted, trying desperately to find some humor. It was that or succumbing to Townsend's unique breed of insanity. That unique breed including some pre-ceremony primping on the part of the officiate. Great.

"What?"

"Last time… I – Corsets. Everyone thought I fainted out of maidenly shyness as we departed toward our…." She went bright red.

"Maidenly shyness? Departed where?"

Jordan rolled her eyes. "Toward our marriage bed," she hissed. Good Lord the man wants a barefoot, pregnant wife, but he can't imagine where a newly married couple departs for? This could be… _Jordan, what are you thinking_?

"Oh! There. Maidenly shyness?" His blue eyes were stormy with confusion. "Oh, never mind. I see. And it wasn't?"

"No, it was the blasted corset." She looked over at him as Nigel continued to primp.

"Good Lord, can't we get this over with?"

"Ah, we knew you'd be eager once you had a moment to think on our idea," Nigel told her. "Excellent!" He clapped his hands for attention. "As you all know, it has recently come to our attention that Young Cavanaugh is hardly the lad we thought him to be, but a lass. In an effort to preserve her reputation and that of ourself and our crew as men who respect well-bred ladies, we do hereby declare Miss Cavanaugh wed to Mr. Hoyt, soon to be a former member of our crew. We wish them a lifetime of happiness and will give them ten minutes in our very own cabin to begin that happiness." He gave the bewildered newlyweds a leer. "Come on then, Mr. Hoyt, surely you know to kiss your bride now. Not shy, are you?"

Hoping she wouldn't slap him, wondering if any of this was legal, moral, or even sane, he leaned in and quickly kissed her lips. The crew booed. Strenuously. That Woody thought he could tolerate. It was when that damn parrot of Haley's began to chant, "Slip her some tongue," that he gave in to the desire he was having a more and more difficult time denying and kissed her, long and firm, leaving her too breathless to slap him.

Without encouragement, Woody scooped his still damp bride into his arms and cradled her against his still damp chest as he carried her to Nigel's cabin. As they crossed the threshold and he slammed the door with his foot, they both heard the parrot. "Ten minutes! Ten minutes!"

"I'd wager a month's wages on this tub he does that every minute for the next ten," Woody groaned, setting Jordan back on her feet. "If he can count, that is."

She glared up at him. "If you so much as touch me again, Woody Hoyt, you'll have to fight Haley for that parrot of his because I'll rip out your tongue and feed it to the rats in the hold."

He tried smiling, hoping to soften her a bit. "That's hardly the way to start a marriage, darling."

A second later Hoyt realized his mistake. He shouldn't have spent the past hour waiting for her to slap him. He should have been waiting for a roundhouse so strong he was seeing the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper and… blackness.


	6. Frills, Flounces, Corsets, and a Confess

**Chapter Six**

**Frills, Flounces, Corsets, and a Confessional**

_"Great. A man puts his entire future on the line for her and she decks him. Knocks him out cold."_

_Jordan put the book down and gave Woody a sideways glance. "She didn't ask him to, you know. She told Captain Townsend that her reputation was already in tatters, and her being on a pirate ship for a month meant nothing to her. She didn't care what people thought."_

"_Still…Hoyt was considerate enough to step forward and salvage what he could of that reputation for her. And then she roundhouses him for all his trouble…"_

_Jordan gave him one of her Mona Lisa smiles. The kind that made Woody just a tad uneasy because he was never quite sure what she was thinking. "So Cavanaugh should be grateful for Hoyt 'making an honest woman of her'."_

_However, Woody wasn't stupid. "Back then, certainly. But that was a different age and time."_

"_Good answer, Detective. And now?"_

"_You," he replied reaching for Jordan and rolling her under him, "are an intelligent, beautiful, and honest woman. A woman who is in everyway complete within herself. A woman that I am privileged to share my life with, a woman…"_

"_Woody." Jordan interrupted him before he waxed too poetic. "Shut up and kiss me."_

* * *

The blackness was a welcome respite from the throbbing in his head. He had made the mistake of shaking it just a little as the darkness began to recede and his eyelids started to flicker. But the pain still bouncing around his brain made this eyes clamp shut again. Woody made a mental inventory…two arms, two legs, two hands and feet, all his fingers and all his toes. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

Yep, they were all there, too.

It was just his blasted head that was killing him. All from her blasted roundhouse. And all because he kissed his bride and then carried her off to Townsend's chambers.

His bride…

His reluctant eyes flew open.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up…" Her voice came from across the room, where she was sitting in front of the window, watching the sea slip by. "It took you long enough."

Woody sat up and rubbed his jaw with one hand, while regarding the brand-new "Mrs. Hoyt" with a wary eye. "Then you shouldn't have hit me so hard, _darling_," he nearly spat out. First he marries this woman to save her reputation and then she has the audacity to deck him. Of all the ungrateful wenches on God's earth…He slowly stood, testing his balance.

"Next time maybe I won't," she challenged, standing herself to face him.

"There won't be a next time. No wife of mine.."

"I'm not your wife," Jordan said sharply. "If you think that little _ceremony_ that Townsend performed on the bow was legal and binding, you have another think coming."

"It was on his ship. And according to sea jurisdiction, a captain and his ship are his own country and what he says goes. If Townsend says we're married, then I'll bet my sugar plantation, we're married."

Jordan gave a very unlady like snort and muttered something under her breath that Woody knew no proper lady would say. She had definitely been on this pirate ship too long, although Woody would also wager she was saying those kinds of words long before her shapely arse showed up on _The Bloody Bullet_. "We'll see…There are more pressing matters at hand, though."

"Such as?" Woody closed the distance between them.

"Such as, in a few hours, we're both going to be put out at Tortuga and I've got to find Garret."

Woody stifled a sigh. The man who had gotten her into all this trouble was still first and foremost on her mind. "You're really going through with it? Searching for your 'friend' after all this?" He made a sweeping gesture around the room with his hand, as if Townsend's bedchamber had been responsible for all the trouble they were now in.

"I told you, Garret is like a father to me." She set her lips in a firm line and her chin echoed it in her stubborn profile.

One that Woody had come to know all to well. As a matter of fact, if it wasn't for the fact that a few feet below that obstinate chin was the shapeliest arse he had ever seen, he would find it downright annoying. Instead, he was willing to follow her anywhere. Even into the seediest pirate bars on Tortuga. He had put his sugar plantation off this long. A few more days wouldn't matter. "I'll go with you to find him."

Jordan felt the wind go out of her sails. She had expected a fight from him. The kind that JD or her father would have given her. The kind that was laced with everything that society expected out of her, not what she really wanted to do. Instead, Woody had set aside his sugar plantation dreams one more time and was ready to "rescue" her again. "You will?" she asked faintly.

He nodded.

"And you're not just saying this because we're supposedly married?" _Please don't let him say yes. If he does, he's no better than JD…_

"No. Tortuga is a rough place. You know Townsend's not going to let you leave the ship dressed like a lad now. I daresay he and his primping selves are somewhere this very minute scrounging you up a makeshift trousseau for you to wear as we disembark. And despite your amazing ability in fisticuffs," Woody paused and rubbed his jaw again, "I don't think you make it five seconds in Tortuga dressed as a woman."

"And you couldn't have that on your conscious, could you?" Jordan returned, with an almost-sneer. Maybe he was one of those condescending males after all.

"I've told you before, Miss Cavanaugh, I don't want anything to happen to another of God's creatures. That's just wrong." His blue gaze was steady in her own whiskey-colored one and deep down inside, Jordan knew Woody was telling her the truth. Her sails deflated a little more.

"Oh." The reply was quiet. Almost meek. At least for Jordan. "Thank you."

* * *

Pirates trade in all kinds of goods and Woody wasn't all surprised that somewhere on that bucket that Townsend called a boat was a woman's dress, complete with the appropriate number of petticoats and a corset. After their granted ten minutes alone were up, the good captain knocked on the door and entered without being let in.

"There you go, m'dear. Everything you need to begin your life as a newly married woman." Townsend beamed as if he had created the entire outfit himself when he handed the bundle off the Jordan. "We're sure it fits. It can be laced up in the back. Something we're sure your new _husband_ won't mind doing at all." His smile was nearly a leer now.

If Woody would have had some way to preserve the look on Jordan's face for future reference, it would have been priceless. The look she gave the pink dress, complete with more ruffles and flounces than any married woman would be comfortable with was worth its weight in doubloons. And the look she gave the corset gave no doubt where she wanted it to go.

"I'll leave you two alone…again…" Captain Townsend said, wagging his eyebrows up and down. "Ten more minutes." He shut the door behind him.

From somewhere in his mind the vague thought began that if he and Jordan ever did have a real honeymoon, the first thing he would do was ban clocks. Instead Woody turned around to look at Jordan who was still gazing at the dress as if it was a snake getting ready to strike her. "Need any help?"

The look of dread quickly transformed into a look of fury. "What?!"

"I mean…."

"I know what you mean. And no. I don't."

"But how will you do the corset?"

He had her there. "Turn around."

"What?"

"You heard me. Turn around. With your back to me until I tell you otherwise."

Obediently, Woody turned his back to her. _One button, two buttons_…he mentally calculated the number of buttons on her shirt and stifled a smile when he heard the soft _swosh_ of the fabric hitting the wooden floor. Then there was the pop of her trouser buttons and the plop of that still-damp fabric hitting the floor. The thought of her without her top and most likely in young man's under shorts was almost enough to make him chance turning around and facing her wrath.

But that would get him now where with her fast. Instead he concentrated on what Sister Margaret had told him years ago when he was a young lad - what would happen to certain parts of boy's male anatomy if they concentrated on what girls looked like beneath their Sunday frocks.

It didn't help.

So he mentally calculated the minutes until he heard her say, "There."

"You need me now?"

"Um. Yes. If you could tie the corset in back for me? But not too tight. And you'd better not look at anything you're not supposed to, okay?"

Woody nodded as he turned around…._Mercy…Sister Margaret have mercy on my soul and my privates…_ She was in her chemise and bloomers and precious little else, holding the corset in place. Jordan turned and presented her back to him. With shaky hands, Woody took the laces. "Let me know when they're tight enough."

Jordan grunted and instructed him where to tug and pull until she was comfortable and presentable. "Now hand me my petticoats."

Seven went over her head with a sigh and then the pink frilly dress. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and petticoats as Woody obediently laced her up in the back. "This," she said, running a hand over the front of the frills, "is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen."

"I think you look beautiful."

Jordan whirled around nearly ready to deck him again. But his sincere blue-eyed gaze and dimpled smile stopped her. Despite herself, she found herself smiling almost shyly back at him. "Thank you."

* * *

They left the boat under the watchful eye of Captain Townsend and the crew, who followed them all the way down to the dock.

And made them promise not to return. "We thank you both for your service," he said with a flourish and a bow, "but we would like to take this opportunity to advise you not to reapply for duty. Especially you, _Mrs. Hoyt_." Jordan felt he put entirely too much emphasis on the last two words.

"Aye," said the crew, nearly in unison, the exception being Haley, whose parrot did the talking for him.

"Ten minutes! Ten minutes!"

"So where to now?" Woody asked, steering her down the docks, keeping a watchful eye out for any trouble.

"Garret. I've got to find Garret."

Woody sucked in a sigh. He had heard of a place in Tortuga that Garret may be at. Or if he wasn't there, the people in there would probably at least heard of where the man may be. Unfortunately, the place was a bar. And not just any bar, but the roughest in all of Tortuga – The Pogue

And definitely a place his new wife should not be.

"Okay, but here's the deal." He turned her to face him. "First, I find you somewhere semi-safe to stay while I go get him. And. You. Stay. Put. There. When I find Garret, I'll bring him to you."

"But Garret doesn't know you…"

"I don't think it's going to be that hard to convince the man that_ I know you_. And therefore, he needs to come with me."

"No." Jordan dug her heels in the wooden walkway. "I'm going with you."

Woody did sigh then. A big, long-suffering sigh. "Jordan. Look at the way you're dressed now. You wouldn't last fifteen seconds in this bar on Tortuga. Please. Just…go with me on this one."

Jordan glanced down at the pink frills and lacy flounces with a sinking heart. For a moment she had forgotten she wasn't dressed as a lad any longer. "Then where are you going to put me while I'm waiting on you?"

Woody paused walking and looked across the street. Jordan's eyes followed him. The word "no" was already ringing her lips.

"Look at this as a way to get caught up on confession and your prayers," he told her as he hauled her across the street and into a Catholic church. A word to the priest and a few minutes later and Woody was strolling out alone, leaving a frazzled and angry Jordan behind. But at least he knew she was safe, because the priest had promised not to let her out of the confessional until Woody returned.


	7. Dr Macy, I Presume?

**Chapter 7**

**Dr. Macy, I Presume?**

Jordan huffed calling her new "husband" a few choice names in four different languages. Well, not exactly huffed. She hadn't been able to take a deep breath since Hoyt strapped her into the whale bone and muslin torture device referred to as a corset. She rested her hand on her aching diaphragm when it became oblivious Woody wasn't coming right back.

"Mrs. Hoyt," the priest said in hushed, but harsh tones. "I must insist that you do not use profanity in God's House."

"I'm sorry Father Stiles..."

* * *

"_Stiles?" Woody winced. "That's the last name I ever thought you'd be whispering in bed with me, Jordan." _

"_Jealous?" Jordan's lips twitched. Woody was irresistible when he was._

"_Of a short, bald head-shrinker," Woody grumbled. "In a word: No."_

"_Then I guess I'd better kick it up a little..." she purred, curling a little closer. "Howard... Howard...Oh, Howie!"_

_Meg Ryan, Jordan was not, but her moans were close enough for Woody to spring out of bed repeating the words "Oh hell, no" over and over again, quivering like a twelve-year old boy who had just been contaminated with a slimy-wet kiss on the cheek from the great aunt that smelled like mothballs._

"_You do realize that will probably haunt me for the rest of my life..."_

"_Just come back to bed."_

"_Will you stop?"_

"_I might be convinced with a warm, caffeinated beverage."_

"_...Cute"_

* * *

"Your husband says you have much to confess," Father Stiles said directing her to the empty confessional. Jordan couldn't help but notice how his eyes, ever so innocently, strayed down the low neckline of her gown. "Come, my child. I shall listen to your sins and offer you redemption."

Jordan dug in her heels, her tone as icy as the Irish winters her father once told her about. "My _husband _is sadly mistaken, sir. I'm not looking to confess any _sins_...especially to the likes of you!"

"Ah! I see you found another soul to save, Père," drawled a voice from the rear of the chapel. "Before you start your sermon I feel it's only to fair to warn your lovely parishioner that the coins from the poor box have already been collected and counted. She may wish to look for her _salvation_ elsewhere."

The fine hairs on the back of Jordan's neck rose. It couldn't be. The softly lyrical voice brought back memories of childhood innocence and the sweetness of her first kiss. She turned to see a ghost from her past. The first boy she ever gave her heart to and the first boy to ever break it.

There he was, complete with the robes of his station.

"Paul," she whispered.

"Jordan?"

Father Stiles and his roaming eyes and unholy thoughts were momentarily forgotten as she ran up the aisle to throw her arms around the handsome, dark-haired man at the altar. "Paul! Thank God!"

* * *

"_Paul?!"_

_This time Woody was a little jealous. Actually more than a little. There were a few things in life that he couldn't hope to compete with...and the ex-that-wore-a-collar was one of them._

"_As in the priest you used to...you know." _

"_For you information, Paul and I never you-knowed. We were waiting..."_

_Jordan grinned. Not you're everyday grin, but one that was designed to make Woody wonder if their dueling euphemisms meant two different things._

_Woody snorted. "For what? Vatican 3?" _

* * *

Paul held her at arms length and couldn't believe his eyes.

Jordan, the woman that still filled his dreams, and truth be known...his confessions, even after all these years with The Church. The last time Paul saw Jordan, he asked to meet her in her father's sugar grove- the same one his own his father labored in all his life- to tell her that he was leaving after the next harvest to follow his calling. Paul could still feel the blasphemous sting of her words when she exclaimed that she'd never forgive God for claiming another person she loved.

Yet, there she was...dressed like a favored pirate's moll that turned their tricks in the lawless port.

"Jordan. By all that is Holy...what are you doing here?"

"I need your help. It's Garret. He's here and I need to find him."

"But...how?"

"I don't have time to explain. Woody will be back soon and I..."

"Take your time, Jordan. I want to hear everything starting with who...or what...is this _Woody_..."

"Then may I suggest you make use of the confessional, Father Paul," Stiles interjected with a leer. "I'll fetch a few coins from the poor plate."

Meanwhile...Woody was tacking his way the labyrinth of brick buildings and rough timber shacks on his way to Pogue.

To a man of his quasi-ecclesiastical upbringing, the island of Tortuga was the closest thing a man could find to the cities of Sodom and Gomorra in the new world. Every possible vice could be had for a price and virtually every square inch was devoted to the pursuit of the seven deadly sins...and few yet to be invented.

With so many choices to be offered a pirate crew on its first shore leave in weeks, Woody wasn't all that surprised to find the crew of the Bullet being parted from a month's wages within the walls of the infamous _Pogue Mahone..._

"You're like a case of the bloody pox, Mr. Hoyt," Nigel bellowed from his position of power in the rear of the room. In one hand he clenched a tankard of rum, while the other one was missing under the skirts of a curvy blonde barmaid. "We can't seem to be rid of you."

Woody barely gave Nigel a second glance. It wasn't as if he had to answer the man anymore and he wasn't about to be baited into one his tangents ever again. "Cap'n."

"Have you bored of your marriage bed already? No problem! Kate here tells me Roz is a right lusty wench! Just fall in at the end of the line behind Mister Vijay and we're confident she'll take care of your unfortunate circumstance momentarily."

Woody grimaced at the line formed by his former crewmates, snaking past a curtained crib. "I'm looking for someone," he grunted.

"We need not repeat ourselves, Mr. Hoyt," Nigel warned, shifting Kate in his lap, making her bosom precariously close to spilling over top of her corseted top. "Bonny Kate 'tis ours for the evening and we don't care to share. You'll either have to settle for sloppy, er...How long is the line for the accommodating Miss Roz, Mister Winslow?"

"Six at last count, sir.. Unless Hawhaw changes his mind."

"...Sevenths, Mr. Hoyt, or go dittle your wife."

"I'm looking for a man."

"Cor, 'tis 'lways the pretty ones t'are bent," Kate chortled in Nigel's ear. She flashed Woody a smug smile and cooed, "Give it an 'our or so, 'andsome...Once a bloke is right pissed 'e won't be too choosy who's a waggin' 'is wicket. With your pretty face you'll 'ave the pick 'o the litter."

* * *

"_Kate with a cockney accent? Do you realize there is something slightly disturbing about that?" _

_Jordan flipped to the rear of the book- to the fourth page of the Appendix to be specific- and ran her finger down the page until she found the passage she was looking for. _

"_It says here that the 'I__n 1645, in an attempt to bring harmony and control over the island, the acting French governor imported roughly 1,650 prositutes hoping to regularize the unruly pirates' lives.' It only goes to figure he didn't go through the bother of calling in a favor from the New York City DA's office to do his hiring." _

"_But cockney?"_

"_You don't like it?"_

"_Actually it's kinda hot coming from your lips, but to tell you the truth I'm more partial to leggy IRISH bar wenches..."_

"_Really?" she asked tossing the book away. "Tell me more." He did and she proceeded to remind him just how much he loved those long legs of hers in the first place. _

* * *

Woody's ears burned at the woman's implication. Of what he could understand of it. He spoke clearly and concisely, hoping she'd understand he was on a mission, not on a man hunt. "I'm looking for someone by the name of Macy. Garret Macy. Have you heard of him? Is he here?"

"Macy," Nigel said rolling the name around in his mouth like a swig of his rum. "If we're not mistaken, which we never are, Macy is this physician Mr...er...Miss... Blast confusing situation! You're _lovely bride _considers a surrogate father."

"For another shillin'," Kate purred tip-toeing her fingers inside Nigel's ruffled shirt. "I'll let you be m' Daddy..."

"Tell us Kate, darling, have you been a good little girl or a bad..."

"PARDON ME!" Woody roared. It was bad enough he was crossing path with a man he swore he'd never lay eyes on again less then three hours after he had been released, but it was his spending his wedding night looking for the man his new wife loved enough to risk her life for. Woody figured he had the right to be a little cranky. "Macy! Tell me, you bloody pirate...IS. HE. HERE?!"

Nigel's blasé expression remained the same, but his tone cooled a good ten degrees. "Be gone with you, Mister Hoyt. You are beginning to annoy us. And after all the favors we bestowed on you this day, we are still _sorely_ tempted to have you keel-haled before the tide."

"But Capt'n! We can't leave YET!" Bug complained, fearing his boss was serious this time. "Have pity Woody! Look for this bugger somewhere else! Please."

Woody pursed his lips, mentally shaking Nigel within an inch of his narcissistic life. "Fine," he bit through clenched teeth. "I'll be back later..."

He turned heel, planning to leave the way he came in when he heard his name being called from the bar. Sidney smiled at him with the self-satisfied grin of a guy who apparently was the head of Roz's line. Woody shouldered his way through the mob to his former crewmate's side.

Sidney hooked his thumb to the side door. "I think the man you're looking for is out back. He said his name was Macy and he's looking for his girl, Abigail. "

Woody clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks. I owe you," he said flipping a coin to the bartender, who in turn put a fresh bottle in front of them.

"Oh, and Hoyt, watch your boots," Sidney said popping the cork and taking a long drag, thus claiming the bottle as all his alone. "It's been awhile since they've shoveled out back there."

'Great,' Woody thought to himself. Not only did he have to break a father's heart by telling him his missing daughter actually ran off with a married man, but he was obligated to tell him that Jordan cheated her way on to a pirate's ship to follow him halfway across the Caribbean just make sure he knew it.

And he had to do it while standing in an open latrine.

It made the idea of being keel-haled during low tide almost pleasant. He hoped this Macy fellow wasn't built like a brick shithouse. His jaw still throbbed from his beautiful bride's sucker punch.

Woody pushed the door open and was instantly bowled over be the odor of boiled cabbage, rancid pig fat and piss. Oceans of piss. He pressed his arm against his nose and took a defensive posture.

"If you're preparing to rob me I need to warn you I only have two pence to my name. If murder it's you plan then make it slow and painful. It'll only make my death more fitting."

At least he wasn't built like a prize fighter, but there was no mistaking the intelligent cunning in the stranger's eyes. Garret Macy could be a very dangerous man if he wanted to be.

"Dr. Macy, I presume."


	8. It's Complicated

**Chapter Eight**

**It's Complicated**

"Garret Macy, I presume?"

The drunk coughed, great wracking spasms before being able to continue. "Who's askin'?"

"My name's Woody Hoyt."

"Don't know any Woody Hoyts." The man hefted an earthenware jug that reeked of alcohol.

"You will," the newly-released sailor muttered. In a louder tone, he added, "No, sir, you wouldn't. I'm a – I'm – I'm Jordan Cavanaugh's… husband."

Macy spewed out a spray of amber liquid, coating Woody's lower legs in droplets of the home brew. "Jordan Cavanaugh's… husband?" He laughed.

"Yes, sir," Woody told him, holding tight to his composure when every fiber of his being wanted to hoist the man up, plunge him into the nearest water barrel for a wash and drag him off to Jordan.

"Jordan's hardly likely to have married again, least of all to someone so… clean as yourself."

"She – We – There wasn't much of an option," the younger man explained.

Now Garret's eyes narrowed. "You've not gotten her with child, have you?"

In the dark, Hoyt blushed deeply. "N-N-No. No, sir." Not that he'd mind particularly his groin reminded him. "No. It's more complicated than that. A lot more complicated." The last phrase was uttered with a cynical, ruefulness Woody had only begun to feel in the last year or so – about the time his dreams of a sugar plantation had seemed to get more and more distant.

This earned him another snort, one he alertly jumped back from. "With Jordan it would be complicated." He took a swig from his mug. "What's it to do with me?"

"She came here looking for you." The drunk sat up, his jaw dropping. Woody wasn't certain if it was the news that Jordan was on Tortuga or the slug of rum he'd just taken. "She disguised herself as a cabin boy and bartered passage on a ship. Only there was an accident and everyone learned she was a woman. The captain was worried over her reputation and insisted one of the crew marry her."

Macy was chuckling continuously now. "That is the sort of tale I would expect to hear of Jordan! So you drew the short straw then… Hoyt?"

Woody's face softened. "I'm not sure I'd call it that." His mind sent him fresh images of the wedding night he hoped to have with his bride. "Will you come with me, sir, to see her? She has news for you."

"News? Naught good, probably. That harridan, Renee, in Port Royal-"

"Jordan knows where your daughter is."

"Abigail? My Abigail?" Macy began to struggle to his feet, using the flimsy wall behind him as uneasy support. "Jordan knows where she is?"

"Yes. She'll tell you and – and… will you come with me?"

Weaving, the drunkard nodded. He drained the last of his rum and threw the mug away. "You didn't leave Jordan in the Pogue, did you?"

It was Woody's turn to chuckle. "Hardly."

"Then where, may I ask?"

"The church."

Macy burst out with a raucous laugh that would have made Haley's parrot green with envy. Well, the parts that weren't green by nature.

* * *

Jordan paced the church, the pink flounces flying, her dark curls bouncing in a way that would entice any man but the two with her. Well, perhaps even them. She eyed the doorway again, observing that the two priests were deep in conversation. Maybe if she walked quietly….

"I was serious about the confessional, my dear," came Father Stiles' squeaky voice.

Jordan glared at him. The good father had threatened to shove her in the confessional and bar the door from without should she not stay willingly until her husband's return. She wasn't sure which angered her more: Father Stiles' threat or the fact that everyone kept referring to Woody Hoyt as her husband. That – That farce on board the _Bullet_ could not be binding. It simply couldn't.

Scowling darkly at Father Stiles and at the renewed thought that she was married – _married!_ – and to Woody Hoyt of all people, Jordan sat on one of the hard wooden benches that served as pews. She winced, wondering if the ilk on Tortuga stayed away from church on account of benches such as these. Or perhaps in their likely-to-be-hungover state, they didn't notice. Then again, Father Stiles' voice probably wouldn't do an aching head much good. A sly smile crossed Jordan's lips as she thought of aching heads. She'd noticed how Woody kept rubbing his jaw where she'd hit him. She always could throw a good punch.

Abruptly, the smile vanished. Damn and blast! She'd brought her thoughts back to Woody Hoyt. It seemed the more she tried to dismiss the man from her mind, the less she succeeded. She reasoned with herself that no man had ever vexed her so. But as she chewed on her bottom lip, she knew deep down that wasn't entirely the reason.

She didn't trust most men, in general. Her father, though she loved him dearly, had set a bad example. Through her childhood and her mother's odd death to the moment he ran off and left her to run the rum concern, the man had often been caught in lies by his clever daughter. Not to say Jordan hadn't enjoyed certain flirtations, as difficult as her station in life made that – the youthful Father Paul being a favored once-upon-a-time suitor. Garret Macy was the only true exception and it went a long way to explaining her urgent need to find him.

But now… now she found herself fighting a feeling she was unaccustomed to. She found Woody Hoyt boorish and arrogant in some ways, but she trusted him. He'd kept her secret – under pain of blackmail, but not all men would have guarded her so. He'd risked his own skin to save hers. And, even after she'd roundhoused him, he'd treated her with respect and consideration. There was something about him. Something more than just those blue eyes, deeper than the sea. She'd be hanged before she'd admit it, but she'd been slightly afraid there would be no marital kiss in Captain Nigel's little ceremony. Her pulse had quickened when his lips had taken hers, and the rowdy jeers of the crew had faded far into the background.

She felt her skin flush and her eyes closed as she imagined how his nimble fingers might unlace this blasted corset and she wondered how he would react if he saw her in nothing more than her undergarments. And even less. Unbidden, she thought of his hands resting on her hips, long fingers splayed along her abdomen, his mouth pressing soft kissed behind her ear, along her jaw, down her neck, to…

"Well, isn't this wonderful? My lovely bride seems to be deep in contemplation?"

Jordan's eyes flew open. She gulped and knew her cheeks had gone crimson at the sound of Woody's voice. She looked up into his smirking countenance.

"Or are you praying, _Mrs. Hoyt?_"

Jordan assured herself the man could not read her mind. He simply couldn't.

Could he?

* * *

"_What are you doing?"_ _Jordan asked as Woody lifted up a lock of her hair and placed a kiss behind one ear._

"_Reading your mind," he replied between butterfly kisses that now trailed along her jaw._

_She snorted._

_He looked up at her, blue eyes wide and guileless. Or so he would have her believe. The twinkle in them gave him away. "Are you telling me I'm wrong?" He didn't wait for her response, but dropped an erratic line of kisses down her throat and across her collarbone._

"_I'm telling you-! " She inhaled sharply as his mouth moved across one breast, lips fastening on to the nipple and pulling gently. Her head dropped back, and she sighed. He brought his hand up to massage her other, neglected breast and the dual sensation made Jordan's heart beat all the faster. "Oh! Oh, God, don't stop, Woody."_

_He chuckled, sending the reverberations through her whole body, a more-than-wonderful feeling. "I thought so," he managed after a moment._

_Loathe to sacrifice the sweet pleasure he was building in her, but never one to give in easily, Jordan reached between them and stroked her hand down his taut abdomen, over his hips and along his thighs before she grasped his already stiffening erection in one hand. He released her, groaning in delight as she began to work him slowly, but firmly._

"_Jordan," he murmured. "Jo. What're you doing?"_

_She smiled to herself and whispered huskily in his ear, "Reading __**your**__ mind."_

_The pirate story would have to wait for another evening_

_

* * *

_Composing herself as hastily as she could – not an easy task in that dress – she stood up. "I was – I was praying. That you had found Garret." She peered over Woody's shoulder and saw her friend standing there. She rushed to embrace him. "Garret! Oh, thank heavens! I've been so worried! It's good to see you." 

He returned her greeting, then pulled back to take her in. His eyes roamed the pink confection Captain Nigel had called a dress. "Good to see you again, Jordan." The man looked at Woody. "I'm drunker than I thought."

Woody wondered if that were even possible – the man was about as drunk as Woody had ever seen a man. "Why do you say that?"

Garret's eyes narrowed and he took a breath. "Because it seems Jordan is wearing a pink gown with - with flounces. And, I do believe, lace."

Jordan turned that whisky glare on Macy now. "The – The gown is not my idea, but Captain Nigel's. Bloody pirate."

Garret looked her over again and finally nodded. Although in Woody's opinion it wasn't so much of a nod, as a precursor to passing out from drink. "Well, Jordan," Garret said, "it – it – oh, Lord, it looks hideous on you!"

Woody waited for the drunk to feel the effect of Jordan's curled fist but instead he heard his new wife laugh, a sound he'd never heard until that moment, and he watched a wide, merry smile grace her lips. Mentally, he groaned. Add those to the shapely arse, the dark, tempting curls and her clear, honey eyes and he realized he was a lost man.

After a moment, Hoyt left his bride and her friend to discuss Abigail and went to thank the priests for keeping an eye on her. He also hoped they would know of a respectable lodging where they might stay until Garret sobered up and the three of them could return to – wherever they were returning to. Both priests laughed, of course, at the idea of respectable lodgings on Tortuga, but finally did allow that there was one woman who kept a clean, safe establishment and refused entry to at least the basest of ruffians and their fancy women. The ex-sailor knew it would have to do.

* * *

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. Woody was impressed with the devotion Jordan showed her friend, as she tended him through his bouts of delirium tremens. He knew the patience required – his own brother was hardly a teetotaler. He saw a side of Jordan he had not suspected existed, and he wondered that she kept it so well hidden. Her tenderness only served to make her more beautiful in his eyes. By the time Garret was on the path to recovery, the bride and groom began to wonder how to get off Tortuga. It would be impossible now for Jordan to disguise herself, and Woody shuddered to think what some captains might ask in barter to transport them. After all, the whores on Tortuga had not sprung up there as mushrooms in a forest.

Jordan solved the problem quite neatly by mentioning a female captain she had heard of.

"Another harridan," Garret proclaimed from the couch where he trembled slightly.

"Yes, but one who will give us passage," Jordan reminded him.

"Who is she?" Woody asked.

"She calls herself only 'Elaine.' She is a woman of native and French ancestry, her people have long lived amongst these islands and she doesn't believe in the silly English superstitions," the dark-haired beauty said.

Woody nodded. "I don't suppose we should have enough luck that she is here."

"I took the liberty of asking our hostess when I – during my morning stroll," Garret said. "Elaine is indeed in port."

"Then I'll go find her," the younger man said. "I'll tell her we need to return to Port Royal as soon as possible and book passage with her."

Jordan stopped him. "'Twould be easier if she sailed first to Isla Leche y Miel."

"Isla… what?" Woody was nonplussed.

Jordan repeated the lengthy name.

"What exactly – and where exacty – is that?"

"That," Garret broke in, "is where Jordan's plantation is. Her father named it – for her in a way."

"I don't – don't understand," Woody replied.

Jordan rolled her eyes, but not without a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "It means 'Island of Milk and Honey.' You know, in the Bible? After the Israelites crossed the river Jordan, they were to be in the land of…."

"Milk and honey. I see." Woody smiled. "Your father was a religious man, then?"

Jordan and Garret both burst out laughing. Jordan finally had to wipe away tears of mirth. "No," she managed at last. "My mother named me and my father simply thought it would be amusing to name the island that he hoped would give us all we needed after the Promised Land."

Her husband nodded, understanding more from whence came his wife's irreverence toward the strictures of polite society. "All right, then. I'll tell this Elaine that we would like to sail first to – to Isla Leche y Miel and that Garret alone will continue back to Port Royal."

"Garret and you," Jordan corrected.

"No," Woody responded. "We're married. We'll go there together."

She rolled her eyes, this time with definite irritation. "Woody, I've already said that little ceremony of Captain Nigel's is hardly binding. Elaine can leave me at my island and you can return to Port Royal and find that nice native girl to raise fat babies with."

"Just a moment, Jordan," came Garret's voice. "Were you at sea?"

"We were," her husband chimed in.

"Well then, 'tis legal and binding. Just a few months ago I had a conversation on that exact matter with that little advocate in Port Royal. What is his name? Oh, yes. Jeffrey Brandau. The one your friend Lily was engaged to for a time."

Jordan's jaw dropped open and she sputtered out a few meaningless syllables. "I'll not – No. It can't be-"

Garret smiled and hoped to soothe her. "I'm sure Woody will be a great help in running the plantation and the rum distillery. I know it's not been easy for you, looking after such a money-making concern."

If Garret Macy thought he had ever seen the full weight of Jordan Cavanaugh's angry glare, he was sadly mistaken. Her eyes were dark, as sharp as arrow tips and a storm as strong as the hurricanes that wracked their corner of the globe raged in them.

For his part, Woody also gaped. He'd rather assumed the references to her plantation were sarcastic or that the acreage concerned was minor, a small plot that produced enough only to keep its occupants together. "You're really… You have…? Truly?"

She let out a great sigh. His excitement was palpable. She could all but see gold coins in his eyes as he calculated just how lucky was his current position.

"Jordan, it's wonderful!" the man exclaimed. "We can be together and have all the things people dream of!"

She advanced on him and thrust a forefinger into his chest. "All right. _We_'ll return to _my_ island and _you_ can have all the things _you_'ve dreamed of. I've been forced into two marriages now, but this time I'll play along in name only! We will never _be_ together Woody Hoyt!"

With a sinking feeling, Woody knew she meant it.


	9. Complete Disaster

**Chapter Nine**

**Complete Disaster**

"_She cut him off and out completely, didn't she?" Woody asked moving slightly away from her._

"_Appears so…"_

_  
"That's not fair; he really cares for her…."_

"_And she has feelings for him. But I think our hero is going to have to work extra hard to get back in her favor and make her trust him."_

_Woody shot Jordan a skeptical look, despite the fact that her face read nothing put pure innocence. "How come this sounds amazingly close to someone I know?"_

_Her lips turned up into a grin. "I have no idea…"_

"_Well if that Woody has to work as hard as I did, this story is going to take forever to finish…"_

_

* * *

_

The trip from Tortuga to Isla Leche y Miel didn't take as long as Jordan wanted it to.

Elaine had been easily found and easily persuaded to take the three on board. Woody and Garret had to share the hold with the crew, and Jordan had to share quarters with Elaine; but the young bride didn't seem to mind not spending any time alone with her new husband, a fact Elaine found curious. But she found a lot of things about her English counterparts curious. If the bride and groom seemed disinterested in bedding each other, that didn't make their coins any less gold for her. She shrugged it off to another English peculiarity and went on with the trip. First to Isla Leche y Miel to deliver the couple and then to Port Royal to deliver the nearly-dried out Garret Macy to his daughter. With a good wind at her back and fair weather to sail in, the trip was reduced several days.

"See, I told you having a woman on board has nothing to do with luck," she told young Hoyt one morning while he was on deck with her. "I've been out to sea since I was fourteen and this is the best sailing I can remember in a long time. I think your bride has brought us good fortune, not bad."

Woody mumbled an incoherent reply and Elaine raised an eyebrow. "She's down below in my cabin – alone – if you want to go see her. She asked if she could borrow a pair of my pants and a shirt. She's changing."

"And you're going to let her?" Woody's mouth gaped open at the thought of Jordan's arse once again in a pair of breeches.

Elaine shrugged. "The pants will be a lot safer for her. If she wore that dress up here it's liable to get hung on something. And if that didn't happen, my crew would be too busy gawking over her to get their work done. And then we'd lose our headway we've made to Isla Leche y Miel." Elaine had worn pants nearly all her life. She had no problem with males or females in them on a boat. She honestly didn't know why Hoyt looked so flummoxed. Jordan couldn't spend the rest of the trip sequestered in the cabin. She had to have some fresh air.

"Like I said, she's alone," Elaine hinted.

Woody simply had turned on his heel and went to find Garret.

Elaine sighed and looked at his retreating back. The English were a peculiar lot indeed.

* * *

Woody found Garret sitting on deck with the crew, enjoying the sunshine and wind – and trying hard to hide the tremors that still sometimes wracked his body. There was no doubt the physician was getting better and there was no doubt that it was due to Jordan's loving care.

Something Woody found himself envious of.

Since Jordan had told him that their marriage would be in name only, she had barely given him the time of day, seemingly resolute on the fact that yes, she was once again married to someone she didn't want to be married to. And there was no way in hell she was even going to even remotely entertain the idea that Woody might make her happy. She had stayed in Elaine's cabin, not even coming out to eat. Woody had tried to cajole, even beg, but she was resolute.

"Why is she like that?" Woody suddenly asked Garret.

"Why is Jordan like what?" Garret answered, well aware of whom Woody was speaking but not about her actions.

"Why is she so damned difficult to get along with?"

"Because she's _Jordan_," was the reply, as if that statement explained it all. When Woody gave him a confused look, Garret continued. "Jordan…doesn't mean to be difficult, Woody." Then he licked his lips and paused. "Well, maybe she does. But she has good reason to. At least with men."

Woody gave the man a shocked stare. He had heard of such women, but never actually believed they existed. "You mean she doesn't like…she likes…wo…" His lips couldn't form the words.

Garret roared with laughter. "No. Let me assure you that Jordan likes men. Very much. She just doesn't _trust_ them. At least most of them." Garret's face sobered. "You two haven't had a chance to talk much, have you?"

Woody shook his head. "No. We fought most of the time on the _Bullet_ and since then, things have just been too…too….crazy," he finished lamely.

Garret nodded. "Then allow me to enlighten you about Jordan. She doesn't trust men easily, but it's not without cause. Her mother died when Jordan was very young, killed under suspicious circumstances. Her father, while he had nothing to do with her mother's death, was never quite truthful with Jordan over the matter. She's caught him in one lie after another about it until Max left Isla Leche y Miel for parts unknown, mainly to avoid his daughter's questions.

"Add to that Father Paul, who hasn't always worn a collar. At one time he was Jordan's suitor. In a cosmic battle between her and God, God won." Garret paused and gave Woody a wry grin. "And I don't think Jordan has forgiven God yet."

"Father Paul…as in back in Tortuga Father Paul?"

Garret nodded and Woody blew out a breath. "I guess that's enough to make you be a little skeptical as far as our sex is concerned," Woody said softly, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the Island.

"But it doesn't stop there." Garret stood and stretched, joining Woody at the railing. "Add to that male employees that constantly let her down and tried to take advantage of her because she was a woman…and then top that off with JD and you've got ample reason not to trust anyone of us."

"JD Pollack? Jordan's first husband?" The man's name had burned in Woody's mind, but Jordan had never volunteered much information about him. All Woody knew was that the man was dead and he had the impression that Jordan had never been really fond of him to begin with.

"The one and the same," Garret nearly spat out the same way Jordan had spat the man's name out at Woody. "He never really loved her. Not really. Oh, he made her think that he did, but what he really loved was Jordan's dowry. See Max had promised JD half of the rum distillery if he and Jordan married. So for a man with an adventuresome spirit like JD, it required very little thought. JD married her, used her money for his many overseas ventures, and left her alone most of the time. Jordan accepted the marriage for what it was eventually. A sham. A woman of her station and financial influence was expected to have a husband. So she did. He was just never there. Eventually he sailed away into the sunset and never returned. And eventually Jordan accepted the fact that he was dead and she was a widow."

Garret rapped the railing with his fist. "I got word months later that his body had washed up in Port Royal with a bullet in the chest. I'm just thankful the bastard didn't leave her with children to raise by herself."

He turned and leaned against the rail so he was facing Woody. "So now you know why your wife has issues with men. I think she has reason to."

Woody nodded and blew out a sigh. "I guess so. But tell me, how am I supposed to change that?"

"You want this marriage to be real with her?"

Another nod. "I'd like for us to at least give it a try. Despite the fact that she thinks I want to be her husband for the money the rum distillery would give us, that's not it. Not it at all." He ducked his head as a blush crept over his cheeks.

"Jordan's a very attractive woman."

"I know. Believe me, even when she was dressed as a boy, it didn't take a lot to realize that she wasn't a he. She's gorgeous," Woody admitted simply. "But it takes a hell of a woman to risk everything she has to find someone she loves. I can't help but wish she'd do the same for me."

Garret sized up the man in front of him. For Jordan not to have immediately thrown Hoyt overboard to begin with said a lot about her feelings for him. And the color that would flood her cheeks when Hoyt entered the same room she was in said something else. Garret had watched her watch Woody when she thought no one would notice. There was something there. Something new and burgeoning and maybe, just maybe, real for once. "Then let me give you two words of advice, Hoyt. First, be patient. Second, don't do _anything_ that would make her mistrust you."

* * *

Jordan fumed and fumbled her way through the next several days, time weighing heavier on her hands as Garret was making a good recovery and didn't need her every waking minute. She wavered between the glad feeling of knowing she would soon be home again at Isla Leche y Miel and the mixed emotions she had at her present status.

She was married.

Again.

To a man that only wanted her for her money.

Again.

Worst of all? While she had never fooled herself too much over her feelings about JD, Woody Hoyt was different and far more dangerous to her heart and her money. One look in those blue eyes and Jordan felt her knees wobble and melt like a school girl's. She hadn't even felt this way about Paul. In the dark hours of the morning her mind would drift back to that kiss, the pressure of his lips on hers…the feel of his arms around her. Wondering just what it would be like to open her body and her heart to this man.

And then the cold reality of dawn would creep through the windows and into her heart. She had heard him when he found out that she not only owned a rum distillery, but an entire island. Several islands, he would soon find out. She sighed and ran her hands down over the pants that Elaine had so graciously loaned her. She needed to have it out with Hoyt before they reached the island. Cautiously she sought him out one morning on the deck, the day before they were due to set anchor in Isla Leche y Miel. "Mr. Hoyt? May I have a word?"

Since a word was about all she had been speaking to him, Woody nodded, remembering Garret's advice – _Patience and don't do anything to make her mistrust you…_. "Sure, Jordan."

She motioned with her hand to a fairly isolated area of the boat, away from the eyes and the ears of the crew. "Mr. Hoyt.."

"Woody. My name is Woody."

"Woody" She took a deep breath and straightened her back a little with resolve as she looked in his eyes.. "I know it was only by Cap'n Townsend's dealings that we've found ourselves in this predicament."

"Predicament?" Woody's forehead creased in confusion.

"Married," Jordan explained patiently.

"Yes, we are." A smile crossed Woody's face. At least she was admitting it.

"Look. I just want you to know that I don't hold you to it…."

"But Jordan, we're _married_…"

She waved her hand, her patience melting away like the early morning fog. "No one knows that and I seriously doubt Townsend filed the papers with the church. So what I am saying now is that I release you from all duties as my husband. As soon as we land at Isla Leche y Miel, I'll arrange it so that you can have safe passage to anywhere that you want to go and that you have enough money to buy that sugar plantation that you so desperately want and marry that docile native girl you seem to be so fond of." It was said quickly before she could change her mind or he could interrupt. She stuck out her hand to shake his and seal the deal. "Are you agreed?"

Woody stared at her hand for a long time, Garret's words of warning mingling with his own anger and hurt. How dare she…when all he had done since they had first met was try to help her. How dare she…Woody felt his heart twist and break just a little.

"No." He pushed her hand away. "I'm not agreeing to it." Woody angrily turned and walked away. He was her husband. And she was going to give him a chance. Then if it didn't work….then he'd think about a sugar plantation, but he had a feeling a docile native girl would be the last thing he'd want.

The next twenty-four hours were a blur of activity as Jordan and Woody got ready to leave the boat for Isla Leche y Miel. Jordan left Garret a list of things to do if his tremors grew worse and extracted his solemn promise not to touch a drop of anything stronger than water the entire time he was in Port Royal.

"She's right, you know," Woody told him. "That place is worse than Tortuga. You'll need all your wits about you."

"And he's right," Jordan said, agreeing with Woody for once. "Don't you think you need Woody to go with you? Just to be safe…" She kept her eyes fixed on Garret, not daring to look at her husband's face.

But Garret didn't buy it. "I'll be fine. I'll find Abigail and be right back in Isla Leche y Miel before you can miss me."

Jordan had to stifle a sigh and admit defeat. She'd be disembarking on her island, new husband in tow. The new last name might be a plus. If she could send him away, she could at least keep his name. The moniker _Mrs. Hoyt_ would keep fortune hunters away. She glanced over at Woody, only to see that he was watching her back, those blue eyes boring straight into her soul. Guilt rose and settled in her throat. _He's just after my money…_ she reminded herself, assured in the fact that there was no love lost between them at all and once he got a settlement, Woody Hoyt would be well on his way to becoming a memory in her past.

"Land Ho!" Elaine's voice rang out in the wind. "The Isla Leche y Miel…."

Despite of everything, Jordan felt an excitement in her she hadn't felt in a long time. It had been months since she had been home. Months since her life had been normal. Right now all she wanted to do was get back in her house and tomorrow get up and ride through the plantation and go through the distillery with her managers. She anxiously walked down the ramp.

And into complete disaster. The distillery was in near ruins, her house in disrepair. So much for the "good people" her father said could run the business in her absence.


	10. Pirates!

**Chapter 10**

**Pirates**

It was evident a storm landed on Isla Leche y Miel and by the condition of the rotting debris it quite possibly was the one that almost cost Jordan her life on the _Bullet_. That was weeks ago! A few rudimentary repairs on the outbuildings had been done, a path cleared to the dock, but what wasn't done was unacceptable. Hers, and the livelihood of everyone on the island, depended on the stores and machinery housed inside those buildings. She didn't even what to think about the worker's quarters.

"Jordan! _Jordan!_ You're alive! Thank God!"

She had barely had time to make a mental list of her father's "good people" to disembowel when Lily waddled from the direction of the main house.

"Lily."

"Oh my," Lily exclaimed, nearly tripping over a downed branch.

Woody rushed to the side of the obviously pregnant woman and caught her by the elbow to help her safely pick her way over to visibly flummoxed brunette. Lily thanked him with a light blush before enveloping Jordan in her embrace.

"We've been so worried…." The hug could be described as slightly awkward. Jordan wasn't prepared to see how fast Lil's figure… blossomed.

Lily came to live on Isla Leche y Miel in the late spring...just after she left her affianced husband at the alter. It was soon become apparent that Lily didn't leave _all_ of him behind. Facing certain ridicule, Lily asked Jordan if she could stay on indefinitely, to which Jordan readily agreed. A dead husband could be created and after a respectable period of mourning, Lily could choose where she and her child wanted to be.

"What happened here?"

"Jordan," Lily sighed, "We've _missed _you."

"Where's Ivers?"

* * *

"_Ivers?!" Woody groaned. "First Stiles, now him? Have mercy on my ego, Jordan."_

"_We need someone to blame for the obvious mismanagement of Isla Leche y Miel." _

"_Oh. That changes everything. Can we kill him?" he smirked. _

"_Woody…"she warned. _

"_Come on, it's just a bedtime story. It's not like we'd really hurt him."_

"_Mmmm."_

"_Let's stake him in the middle of the cane field during the harvest fires."_

"_Too ritualistic." Jordan mused, tapping her fingernail against the binding of the book they had spun their story around. _

"_Okay, how about stuffing him in the distillery's sugarcane grinder?"_

"_Too messy."_

"_Feed him to the sharks?" _

"_Too …predicable."_

"_I've got it!" _

"_What?"_

"_The perfect way to get rid of an overbearing prick like William Ivers."_

"_How?" _

"_Let me take over for awhile," Woody grinned plucking the tome from her fingers, "and you'll find out…" _

* * *

Jordan tried to distract Woody with the offer of refreshments but he stuck to her like a barnacle. She had no choice but to let him follow her to the plantation's office and where Ivers could undoubtedly be found.

She viewed Ivers as a necessary evil. Max left assuming Jordan's husband would handle the day to day operations.

Not that Jordan couldn't do it herself. But it didn't take Jordan long to realize that nobody would conduct business with a female. How could he know JD's restless soul would lead to his death?

Williams Ivers was the personification of efficiency. His methods may not always be popular, but he kept the books in the black, barely, which hadn't always been the case since Max left.

She stormed in finding him hunched over his desk with quill in hand.

"Madam," he said with nary a glance at his employer's entrance. "I trust your little retreat was refreshing. If you would just leave any account dues in my inbox, I'll make sure they are tended to straight away.

"We need to talk."

"Of course," he drawled finally looking up.

William's eyebrows frowned at seeing Woody standing close to his meal ticket.

Protectively close. A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He quickly wrestled on his jacket and he unfolded himself from his seat.

"You have me at a slight disadvantage, Mrs. Pollack…" he said never taking his eyes off the other man.

"Cavanaugh," Jordan interjected.

"Hoyt," Woody said, overlapping.

Jordan ground her heal into Woody's instep. "Mr. Ivers," she said with a flat smile. "This is Mr. Woodrow Hoyt, my…. _husband_."

Woody cleared his throat, covering his grin with an open fist. The word 'husband' came out of Jordan's mouth sounding more like a curse than an endearing title. He slipped his arm around her waist hoping to give her declaration some validity, only to have her shrug out of it. Woody didn't bat an eye. Didn't they say possession was nine-tenths of the law? At least that's the way they viewed it on a pirate's ship.

Woody wasn't the only one who seemed oblivious to Jordan's impulse. Other than the deep crease on his forehead, Ivers stood silent.

Jordan continued. "Mr. Hoyt will only be with us temporarily…"

"Us? You're beginning to sound like you've sent too much time with Townsend, Jo," Woody teased.

'_Jo…?'_ Jordan let it slide. She had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

"Mr. Ivers. Would you care to tell me why my island is in shambles?"

"I would think that would be quite obvious Mrs…Hoyt, is it?"

Woody gave a single nod and Jordan flashed him a look that would only confirm the dread Captain Townsend's opinion on females in general.

"There was a storm. We did what was necessary to keep the operation running, but unfortunately since your…excursion…we've lost seven more employees."

"_Seven!_ Who?"

Ivers listed off the handful of people who left Isla Leche y Miel. Some of which had been there before Jordan was born. How? Why? The question was written in her eyes.

"We can't compete with the other traders, madam. The Cavanaugh label needs to change its business practices…"

Jordan childishly put her hands over her ears. She'd heard this speech of his a number of times.

Slaves. The answer to shrinking profits and rising overhead would be through bartering souls. Jordan had steadfastly refused and she wasn't going to stop now.

"No! We'll hire more hands," Jordan said, beginning to pace. "We'll have Elaine put the word out when she sails on the tide. "

Ivers had no idea what this Elaine was and could care less. He erased the point with limp wave of the hand. "And pay them with what, madam? There is scarcely enough on the books to pay next quarters wages."

"How is that possible? The fields have been ample. Production is up. Trade's been brisk."

It was that reason alone Jordan felt confident enough to go searching for Garret in the first place. They were having a vintage year.

" Overhead. The costs incurred with your employees are bleeding the accounts dry, Mrs. Hoyt."

_Overhead_. Whenever Jordan talked to Ivers about business it was overhead. Had the cost of everything raised _that_ high?

"Just how much are you paying yourself, Mr. Ivers?" Woody questioned. He always prided himself at his ability to read people and Ivers was making the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.

It was Ivers turn to clear his throat and Woody doubted it had anything to do with hiding a smirk.

"Mrs, er, Hoyt trusts me with handling her finances, sir," Ivers announced, looking down his nose at the slightly taller man. "I take offence if you are insinuating that I've mishandled them in anyway…"

"That's enough," Jordan said putting her hands between the two of them. She was getting a headache. Something she always did when she thought about money. "I'd like to review the books later this week. Right now, I'd like to finish assessing the damages and formulate a plan on how to handle the clean up."

"Very well, madam," Ivers said with a patronizing tilt of the head.

He may have won this battle, but Woody would make sure he didn't win the war.

With a gentle hand in the small of her back, Woody led his wife out the door and back into the Caribbean sunshine.

"Right now, you are going up to the house and getting some rest. I'll take a look around."

"Nonsense," Jordan snorted. "You don't know anything about Isla Leche y Miel…"

"Then it's a perfect time to acquaint myself."

"But…."

"I haven't always been a pirate, Jo" he smiled kissing the tip of her up turned nose. "I know my way around a sugar plantation."

There was that nickname again. Jordan tongue almost forgot how to work. A real bath with fresh water sounded too good to be true. She could talk to Lily. She'd know what was going on.

"Don't bother my people and remember you are just a guest here. You have no rights to my property no matter what the law says about marriage."

"So, you are admitting we're actually husband and wife?"

That smile. It was like the second half of a one-two punch. Maybe she did need to rest. Jordan pinched the bridge of her nose remembering she had a headache.

"You're changing the subject. Just…stay away from Leo. He's damn near blind and he's liable to take you for a pirate then shoot your leg off. "

"As long as it's not my third leg," Woody leered in his best pirate brogue. "Ay, but question is; how will you nurse me back to health, my love?

* * *

_Jordan rolled her eyes. "Is that the best he's got?"_

"_Wha'd'ya mean?"_

"_Nursing his third leg?" _

"_He's trying to make her smile. Ivers is running her island into the ground…so to speak," Woody sighed. _

_Jordan's frown was as firmly in place as she could only picture her alter-ego's would be after a crack like that. "Berman used a better line on me the last time I went out on a call with him…" _

"_I'll keep that in mind."_

* * *

Woody wisely used the rest of the day to tour the island and like any good "guest" visit the operations. Jordan's Isla Leche y Miel had a strong back bone and good people. By all accounts, the financial problems only came to light after Ivers showed up. Woody would have likes to take a look at those books himself.

But as the time past the books weren't meant to be.

Seven days into his stay and Woody barely had time alone with Jordan let alone Ivers or the books. From sun-up to sun-down both Woody and Jordan labored side-by-side with her employees to ready the facilities for the next harvest. He was introduced as her husband and Jordan appropriated his last name. But even as she was making the introductions she made sure that everyone knew he would be leaving soon to live on his own land. If anyone questioned the odd arrangement they kept their comments to themselves.

Their evenings started with a light dinner with Lily and then an exhausted Jordan would disappear into her chambers for the night. The deadbolt slammed shut.

Woody would spend his solitary nights watching the iridescent waves roll onto shore from the balcony off the bedrooms. He'd sip the fine Cavanaugh rum and contemplate how long it when take him to talk his way through that locked bedroom door at the other end of the porch.

* * *

_Seven days, one hundred sixty-eight hours, ten thousand…._

Locked away in her nocturnal seclusion, Jordan paused with her hairbrush in mid stroke. "He needs to go…soon…tomorrow, if it can be arranged," she muttered to herself. "…Or after the next harvest. We're still shorthanded…"

…_Or never at all…._

He has to be anxious to get on with his own life. Didn't he mention a brother somewhere? And of course his sugar fed babies and…and…

Jordan tossed the forgotten brush on her bureau with a little more force than absolutely necessary.

What did she care what he did after he left her island? Their so-called wedding was a sham anyway. It was bore under coercion and witnessed only by a handful of thieving pirates. There wasn't a legal and religious court the entire world that would up hold it.

Then why did she look forward to working side-by-side with him each and every morning?

What he lacked in skills at being a pirate, he made up in with knowing how to deal with calamity that was a limping rum manufacturer. Even Leo Gelber sang his praises. "You made a good match," he told her. "This is the type of man your father would be proud to call son. Now you can get rid of that putz, Ivers."

She argued back. "I'm not ready to replace a man who thinks my business practices are counterproductive, with one who will simply rob me blind…"

…_and break my heart… _

The room was suddenly too stifling. Weeks of sleeping on the deck of ship had had an affect. In need of fresh air, Jordan threw open the doors to the balcony.

She didn't see him standing outside the guestroom door until she heard him set the glass he'd been drinking from on the railing.

"I'm sorry," Jordan jumped. "I didn't realize you were still awake…."

"I wasn't ready to turn in yet."

"You had a long day. You should get some sleep."

"As wonderfully therapeutic as your rum is Jordan, it's a poor substitute to finding a good night's rest in the arms of a beautiful woman."

"I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding someone to help you with that problem after you leave."

"It _sounds_ like you asking me to leave now…"

"I'm thankful for all your help since we landed. Honestly, I am..."

"…but?" He came closer until he was practically standing on her toes. He leaned over her, invading her space…breathing her air.

"I'm sure you want to get on with your life…."

He traced his fingertip lightly over the line of her jaw and her skin erupted in gooseflesh. "How do you _know_ what I want, Jordan, when you won't let me show you?"

His eyes looked black in the soft moonlight, but his lips looked full and as promising as they did when he kissed her in broad daylight on the bow of _The Bullet_. Suddenly, she was there again, the wind pressing against her wet clothes making her lean in to the heat of his body just to stay warm.

And maybe searching for something more.

She could taste the sweet heat of her father's choice reserve as his tongue swept over the crease of her lips. With a moan, she opened up to him, pin-pointing that ache that had been there for weeks, drawing it to the surface by threading her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull, and fanning it in intensity by yielding to his embrace.

"Jordan," he whispered hoarsely against her lips. "I need you…please, don't lock me out tonight."

Light filled his face making those dark eyes glow that beautiful blue. She arched into him, preparing to give him an answer that would at least make that itch go away for one night, when she realized the unexpected light was coming from the flames of a dozen torches in the courtyard bellow them.

"What the…" Woody complained putting himself instinctively between Jordan and whatever was beyond the railing.

One look and Woody closed his eyes alternating between cursing and praying for the sight to go away.

"Mis-ter Hoyt. _Madam._ We must say, Missus Hoyt, wedlock agrees with you. You're looking most ravishing this evening. Didn't you agree?"

Jordan gaped around Woody's drooping shoulders. Three quarters of the crew of _The Bloody Bullet_ was standing one more then ten feet away. "Pirates!" she hissed.

"Of course," Nigel beamed, sweeping his that preposterous hat of his off in a courtly bow. "We trust your honeymoon was everything a blushing bride could dream of.,,"

A few snickers and crude comments trickled from the motley crew.

"Mister Vijay suggested that since you owed your happiness to yours truly, that a visit to the eternally thankful couple was in order. We whole heartedly agreed!" He opened his arms wide and flashed a wily smile. "Here we are!! Ready to be showered in the rewards of your domesticated hospitality!"


	11. A Dying Fire

**Chapter 11**

**A Dying Fire**

_Jordan glared at Woody. "No."_

"_No, what?" He gave her his most innocent look – blue eyes aglow, dimples indenting his cheeks, eyebrows waggling._

"_You are such a – such a __**girl**__sometimes." She hit him an extra pillow and then lay facing him, propped up on one elbow._

"_Oh yeah?" He pulled the pillow away from her._

"_Yeah." She huffed. "God! Are you sure you don't have a second job, writing cheesy romance novels under some syrupy pseudonym? Laura Langley or Diana Divona or-" She squealed in surprise as he pulled her arm out from under her and sent her sprawling on her back._

_His mouth captured hers in a kiss as hungry as the one his pirate alias had planted on hers; this kiss had none of the tentativeness or pleading of that fictional one however. Instead her lips matched his in eagerness, her tongue dancing with his in a slow, sensuous series of steps that were as exciting as they were familiar. He moved to cover her lithe body with his, dragging his mouth from hers, trailing a line of fluttery, teasing kisses along her jaw, to her ear. He murmured softly, his voice low so that it rumbled through her, "I am so __**not**__ a girl." Just in case she had any flagging doubts, he ground his pelvis into the juncture of her thighs and was rewarded with a sharp gasp and a feral arch from her. Her fingers wove themselves into his hair and she pulled him back to her, their lips crashing together again as heat sparkled over every nerve ending they had. _

"_Oh, God! Woody!" she cried out as he slid into her. His mouth moved down her neck, along her collarbone and took possession of one taut nipple. She gave him little, quick panting breaths as he suckled and moved within her. She felt the crescendo of pleasure rise within her and knew he felt it too. They had both learned each other's rhythms so well, better than she'd ever believed possible. He held her as her body spasmed in delight and, as it faded, rolled them so she rose over him._

"_Jordan," he whispered with urgency. "Jordan, the things you do to me."_

_She grinned lazily. "I didn't do much this time, Woods."_

_He reached up and cupped her face. "All you have to do is breathe." His hands left her face and found her hips, grasping them, guiding her pace as they moved. He held back until she was on the edge again and then they flew off it together._

_

* * *

__Several nights later, Jordan held their abandoned pirate tale. She gave Woody a smirk – more his expression than hers, but she did like to keep him guessing. "You know," she said in that sultry tone she had, "if we keep getting… distracted, we're never going to finish this."_

_He shrugged. "I can live with that." He twirled a lock of her long hair around one finger. "It's kind of fun."_

_She arched an eyebrow. "Yeah?"_

_He nodded._

"_Which part?" Her smile was wickedly sinful._

"_All of it." He placed a chaste kiss on her mouth. "So… where were we… ehm… they?"_

_Jordan rolled her eyes, but the smile never left her face. "__**They**__ were being invaded by Captain Townsend and his charming crew."_

"_Oh, of course. Gee, I hope Haley brought the parrot."_

As Jordan and Woody stared at the assembled group of motley men beneath them, they might not know it, but they shared the same thought, wondering why tonight, of all nights, Nigel should descend upon them. Neither thought it could get much worse.

"Ten minutes! Ten minutes!" Came the shrill squawking of Haley's parrot.

Oh yes, it could get worse.

"I'll give them ten minutes," muttered Woody, sounding very much like the Lord of the Manor and a more-than-somewhat miffed one, at that. "Ten minutes to get their bloody arses out of our courtyard, onto their bloody ship and under bloody sail."

Jordan raised an eyebrow at him. One thing she'd learned – well, one of many – about Woody Hoyt was that, unlike most men who gave mere lip service to the idea that men of decent breeding avoided certain practices, he actually avoided them. Seducing the daughters of some her native workers was one such activity he eschewed. Drinking himself into a stupor after dinner each evening was another. Cursing was a third.

He caught her eye and she saw the color rise in his cheeks. His head hung a bit. "Sorry, Jo," he mumbled. "I shouldn't let them provoke me." The look in his eyes begged forgiveness.

Unaccustomed to being looked at in such a way or having any man seem so concerned for her "feminine" virtues, the look on his face sent a thrill through her. It also sent a chill through her. The best of her relationships had still been fraught with tension and deception, to some degree. Though she would be loathe to admit it, she often doubted her own ability to judge others, especially men. She backed away from him. "It's quite all right," she told him stiffly.

Woody watched in desperation as he saw the shutters of her heart swing shut again. Those blasted pirates! He'd been so close to her, so close to showing her how he felt, to getting her to admit how she felt. He was certain she shared his feelings now, for Woody Hoyt _knew_ he was a good judge of how people really felt. "Jo… Jordan… we'll get rid of them and then-"

"I don't think they'll be dismissed so easily, Wood- Mr. Hoyt." She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"Jordan," he hissed. "Don't do this."

"Do what? Greet our… guests?"

"Back away from me. Don't back away from me – from this… us."

She regarded him coolly for a moment. He saw the fire in her die. "I don't know what you mean." She turned on her heel and retreated to her room, slipping on, no doubt, a suitable gown in which to play mistress of the mansion.

Woody watched her go, his heart thudding dully in his chest, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists that he'd like to ram into the face of every man in that courtyard. Moments later, he heard, rather than saw, Jordan emerge below and greet Nigel and his crew. Her voice was light, her words telling the men it was a surprise, but that they were welcome to the hospitality of Isla Miele y Leche, such as it was after the devastating storm had wracked the island. She prattled on and Woody could hear the nerves in her voice. Wretched with anger, he picked up the whiskey glass and hurled into the wall. It shattered into a thousand shards that lay reflecting the moonlight. At first, he did not notice Lily, standing in the shadows at the long balcony's end, watching him. Finally, he raised his gaze and met hers.

She gave him a shy smile. "Don't give up on her, Mr. Hoyt," the expectant mother said quietly. "Please don't give up on her. She needs you."

Woody's blue gazed burned toward her while the man himself was mute for a few long moments. With a quick shake of his head, he muttered, "I'm not going to give up on her, Miz Lily, but I don't know that she'll ever need me. Or anyone." This last he all but spat out as though the words themselves burned.

Lily swallowed. "You're wrong, Mr. Hoyt. She needs people. Far more than she'll admit. It's just that – that she's always been… disappointed by… others. She's learned 'tis easier to keep her feelings deep within." She shrugged. "'Tis easier to flee than to be left behind – in matters of the heart." She chuckled and rubbed a hand over her distended belly. "I know something of these matters."

For the first time since the pirates arrived, Woody smiled. "Thank you, Miz Lily. I'll just have to find a way."

"A way to do what?"

He strode past her, toward the landing, preparing to go down and banter with the men in the courtyard. He threw her a look over his shoulder and gave her a wink. "To hold her closer."

It was Lily's turn to smile, and she beamed. "'Tis exactly what she needs, Mr. Hoyt."


	12. The Fires of Frustration

**Chapter 12**

**The Fires of Frustration**

"_So let me guess…Hoyt whisks her away to a rooftop in sunny LA where they are constantly interrupted by ringing cell phones and it's three more years before he gets to hold her tighter?" Jordan teasingly ventured._

_Woody snorted then glanced over at the nightstand where a quick peek told him that both of their cell phones were off. He had learned that trick early in this part of their relationship – unless one or both of them were on call – he always powered down both phones before getting into bed. "He didn't exactly whisk her away," he said, thumbing his way back through the book again. "He was the one who followed her to the island. Remember?"_

"_I remember." Jordan gently took the book out of his hand and set it on the floor beside the bed. "I also remember she's shut down on him and thinks it might be safer for her heart if he just left."_

"_So he won't hold her tighter?"_

_She rolled over on top of him and stared into his blue eyes…eyes that were so easy to get lost in. So easy. And so safe. "Oh, he'll hold her tighter…"_

"_When?"_

"_When she knows she can trust him more than anyone. When she knows her island and her rum distillery are safe with him. When she realizes that he loves her more than she even loves herself. And most of all…" Jordan lightly touched his lips with her own, "when she realizes that he's the one man in her life that won't break her heart."_

_

* * *

__Damned, cursed, bloody pirates…_ Woody thought to himself. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last. The pirates had been "guests" of Isla Leche y Miel for a week now and during that time little to nothing had been done on the much needed repairs to the island and its buildings. Everyday he and Jordan had woke up, hoping that Townsend and his crew would decide to sail away that day, back to their regularly scheduled looting and pillaging. 

Instead the fine Cavanaugh rum kept them, and their hosts, captive on the island. Woody saw the chance for any real profit slip further and further from Jordan's hands as each day proved to be a delay in getting the distillery back to normal. She and many of her employees were locked into playing hostess to her ragtag bunch of "benefactors" and Woody was relegated to grinding his teeth and praying that they'd just leave. The few men that Woody could manage to get together and work made little headway into the repairs.

Frustrated, physically and sexually, did not even begin to describe Woody Hoyt. Physically, the work was going slow. And Woody didn't do slow. At least not well. Sexually, he was further away from making Jordan his wife than ever. Her eyes and her soul were shuttered and locked to him now and since Townsend and his posse had docked at the island, she had spent no time alone with him.

Woody was not back at square one. He felt like a game piece that had been thrust in the box, waiting for the next round to begin. He wasn't married, but he wasn't single. And his wife was doing nothing to help define whatever it was they were.

Every time he looked at her, he just wanted her more. All Jordan had to do was walk in the room and he could feel his body react. And since he could make no move toward her, he had retreated behind walls of silence and work. The work he could do. Woody didn't trust Ivers as far as he could throw the pallid excuse for a man. So in the evenings, after he was sure the pencil-pushing administrator had left his office and retired for the night, Woody would stealthily make his way to the rum distillery's main office, where by candlelight, he began to carefully go over the books. He hadn't lied to Jordan. He did know a thing or two about running a sugar plantation. As a boy, he and Cal had been left parentless. The two boys ended up with an aunt and an uncle that ran a plantation. Woody, unlike his brother, had enjoyed the lifestyle, but since he was only a nephew and not a son, he knew he stood no chance of inheriting the land after his uncle died.

That never stopped him about dreaming of owning his own oasis. And he never stopped preparing for it. He had stuck like glue to his uncle's side, learning all he could about planting, irrigation, fertilizing, and harvest. The part about a docile native wife and a passel of sugar babies was his own invention. But it was his aunt that taught him the finance part. She had pulled him aside on many occasions and instructed him about overhead and pricing. How to make a profit. And what to do if the profit was low. He used that knowledge now as he poured over Jordan's books, going back as far as ten years worth of profit and loss and balance sheets.

While Max had run the distillery, he had refused to barter in human flesh. In other words, all of the employees on Isla Leche y Miel were paid, regardless of the color of their skin. Even after JD had taken over after Max left, the tradition continued. Probably more out of Jordan's preference than JD's. As far as Woody could tell, JD had precious little to do with the distillery or the plantation. Other than his signature on a handful of documents, Jordan had signed off on everything else.

Until Sir William Ivers entered the picture. Suddenly the books began bleeding. Which was odd. Because even though Max, JD, and Jordan had refused to run the distillery and plantation on the backs of slaves, Cavanaugh Rum had shown seven years of solid profits right up until the time Ivers weaseled his way into the picture. The last three years of the books proved to be a muddled mess.

But Woody's aunt had taught him that finances were not something that could be done quickly. Those were done methodically and thoroughly. So while Jordan and her staff entertained the Dread Pirate Townsend and his motley crew, Woody slowly and carefully reconstructed the last three years of Cavanaugh Rum's finances…all while Ivers was safely tucked in his bed during the wee hours of the morning.

It took time. It took a patience Woody didn't know he had. But as he blew out the candle a week later after his investigation began, Woody knew he had the answers Jordan needed.

* * *

Jordan paced the balcony outside of her bedroom, kicking her skirts out of the way in frustration. She paced when she was worried. She paced when she was upset about something. She had paced for miles when JD didn't come home and even more when she realized he was gone for good. Finally she stopped, put both hands on the railing, and sighed, looking up at the moon and desperately wishing her life had turned out differently.

She had never wanted to get married to JD. Not really. But it was "the thing to do," her grandmother had told her. Once a young lady of a certain station reached a certain age, she got married, settled down, had children, and became mistress of the manor. JD was handsome and had a British accent. By all appearances he was independent, both emotionally and financially. Since Paul had chosen God over her, Jordan gave in to her grandmother's pleading and married Pollack.

There had been affection. There had been great sex. But there had never been love. So when Pollack had turned up missing and then dead, Jordan had grieved the man-that-could-have-been more than the man-that-was-her-husband. Then had silently vowed to never marry again. And widowhood had agreed with her. After a respectable period of mourning, Jordan moved on with her life, now freer to do what she wanted out of the confines of marriage and under the cloak of widowhood. Widowhood garnered a certain amount of respect and if a woman didn't want to remarry, people assumed, rightly or wrongly, that she was still so in love with her late husband that being with another man never entered her mind. That wasn't the case with Jordan, but she let people think what they wanted to.

She only knew that for once in her life, she had no one to answer to. And she relished that. Then came Garret's situation….and the pirates….and then Hoyt….and now she was married again. Married again, but in name only.

In. Name. Only. Other than a couple of brief kisses, Woody Hoyt hadn't touched her. He hadn't tried to take advantage of her financially or otherwise.

And maybe it was the _otherwise_ that left her so bitterly disappointed and frustrated. She knew she had pushed him away. Deliberately. Yes, she wanted to protect her heart, but she also wanted to see if he was man enough to fan the sparks that flew between them physically.

He wasn't. And he hadn't. As a matter of fact, during the time that Townsend and his crew had been at Isla Leche y Miel, Woody had been curiously absent. He had shown up for meals, worked with the few men she could spare during the day to continue cleaning up the island….and then disappeared at night. She never heard the door to his bedroom open until the wee hours of the morning.

And he never tried to open the door to her bedroom. Never mind that she kept it locked…he just never tried.

And in the mornings he appeared haggard, as if sleep didn't come easily to him. Or more than likely, not at all.

So with all of that evidence in front of her, Jordan could conclude only one thing. Despite Woody's ethical qualms about it, somewhere on the island, he had found that docile native girl he had been looking for and was spending time – his nights, more specifically – with her. Right under her nose. Right in front of all her employees and friends.

Rubbing it in her face.

Jordan's cheeks burned at the thought of being so shamed in front of everyone. And that was while she was pacing in these wee hours of the morning…..staying awake until he dragged his sorry arse home so she could confront him. First a marriage that ends with an early widowhood, then another forced marriage where she is shamed. Her eyes glittered with tears. Tears of anger…and of hurt, if the truth be known. She had thought Woody Hoyt to be an honorable man.

Time and circumstance had made him show his true colors.

So when she heard his footsteps on the stairs she whirled to face him. "We need to talk," she confronted him, her words cold and clipped.

"Yes, we do," he replied, holding a sheet of paper in his hands and walking towards her.

Jordan backed, up reluctant to let him take any of her space this time. "You need to leave the island."

Woody stopped dead in his tracks, hoping against hope that she was joking, or that he misunderstood what she said. "Leave?" he asked incredulously.

"Leave. Tomorrow. Townsend and his pirates are setting sail in the morning and there's no reason in the world you can't be on that boat with him. I'll give you enough money to buy that sugar plantation you want so badly, if you'll just let me continue to use your last name."

_Tomorrow…use my last name…sugar plantation?_ Woody's head reeled at her barrage of statements that were making no sense. "Townsend's sailing tomorrow?" he repeated, in question form.

Jordan nodded. "Yes. And he's told me you can have passage…as a passenger, not a deck hand."

"Deck hand?"

"You won't be a pirate this time, you'll be a passenger…" she patiently explained. God. Why couldn't he just get it? Understand what she was trying to say before she broke down and lost it in front of him? Crying before Woody Hoyt was not an option. It would make her seem weak and vulnerable. And Jordan Cavanaugh…..Hoyt…was not vulnerable or weak. She willed the tears back again

"You want me to sail with him? To go away and leave the island?" His voice was still incredulous, but it now held a sad note.

Jordan nodded again. Vigorously. Then struggled to keep her voice normal. "And you can take her with you…whoever it is, I'm sure it will be fine. And since I'm quite sure that Captain Townsend never filed our marriage papers with the church, then it really doesn't matter, does it….."

He stopped hearing her then, anger beginning to roil up in him. "You want me to leave?" he asked angrily. "After all the work we've done together…after everything….finding Garret….the repairs…the…." He choked on the next words he really wanted to say –_ after what could be between us_. She obviously was oblivious to the sexual tension between them. "After this?" he shook the piece of paper in front of her face. "Do you know how long I worked to get to this? Do you know….." he continued to rant for a full minute before he heard her again.

"I SAID YOU COULD TAKE HER WITH YOU. I REALLY DON'T CARE…." Jordan said loudly, cutting through the tirade he was spilling out.

There was dead silence.

"Her?" he asked in a terse voice. So that was what she thought. Figures. Macy and Lily said she didn't trust men and always expected them to disappoint her. Evidently she had lumped him with the rest of the men in her life. "Her?" he said again.

Jordan nodded miserably.

"This isn't what you signed on for, I'm sure. You expected a functioning rum distillery that turned a profit. Cavanaugh Rum hasn't and I don't know when or if it ever will again. And I'm not a docile native girl and never will be. So I just think it's best that we end it now. You've found someone and Townsend sails in the morning and…." Jordan's voice trailed off as she realized he wasn't listening to her at all, but looking off to the horizon, over the balcony railing.

"Woody….what is it?"

Pointing to a spot in the center of the distillery buildings, he answered. "Call all hands on deck…including the pirates. The distillery's on fire!"


	13. She Has You

**Chapter 13**

**She Has You**

"…. The still's fires should be been banked for the night."

Before the words were even out of her mouth Woody was gone. Jordan lifted her skirts and ran to sound the alarm. Fire wasn't a stranger to the inhabitants of Isla Leche y Miel. There were years when rogue winds would make the pre-harvest fires jump their lines and threaten the rest of the island. Everyone, including the pirates, knew what to do. Within minutes, a bucket brigade had been formed on the beach with Woody shooting commands from the head while Nigel directing his crew from the water line. With an air of desperate determination, Jordan tucked her skirts in her waistband and shouldered her way in line behind her husband.

"Jordan, get back! Now!" Woody yelled over the growing chaos.

"This is my plantation, Mr. Hoyt! You do not give the orders around here!"

Woody lifted her shoulders and bodily deposited her out of the way. "Damn it Jordan, for once in your life, do as you're told."

Jordan was ready to launch into a verbal tirade that would make even the most seasoned sailor on Townsend's crew blush when an explosion roared through the distillery rendering the side of the stone building a virtual inferno.

Woody threw her to the ground using his own body to protect her as showers of debris rained down over them.

The fire had reached the one of the stills. It was only a matter of time before the second went. Woody immediately rolled off her dragging her to her feet. Jordan missed the slight wince in his action. She was too intent on running toward the source of the flames.

"Jo, it's too late," he said pulling her back.

"_No!!!" _

"I'm sorry," he whispered. With his arms still around her waist Woody pulled her away from the carnage and to the relative safety of the beach. "Captain! Have your men fall back. The distillery is gone. We need to concentrate on dowsing the warehouse before the roof catches. And someone check the caves …" Woody said referring to the underground caverns they stored the distilled mash to age. "This fire was deliberately set…."

Jordan looked at him in disbelief and tried, unsuccessfully, to wrestle her self out of Woody grasp. "Let me go…."

"No, Jordan."

Meanwhile, Nigel bellowed an order redirecting the bucket brigade. "Let it be known Mister Hoyt, we do not take orders from others, but in this case we concur with your assessment of the situation. Mister Vijay! Redirect our efforts to the cane sheds. Mister Seeley!" Matt ran to answer his captain. "Go check the reserves. Take Mister Ivers with you…"

"I haven't seen Mr. Ivers…."

"What do you mean you bloody haven't seen Ivers?" Nigel bellowed.

"He's not in any of the lines…"

It all suddenly dawned on Woody. "That's because he is the one who set the fire."

Jordan couldn't believe her ears. Why would her overseer intentionally set fire the heart of the operation? "What?!"

"It's what I was trying to tell you earlier, Jordan. I have evidence that William Ivers has been skimming off the top of the books. "

"I don't understand…"

"I believe he was bleeding just enough to force your hand into selling to him the island….and the Cavanaugh label…. with _your own money_. I also found a stack of correspondence between him and few of the slave traders in the area. Ivers was looking to set himself up as proprietor of Isla Leche y Miel by year's end. He must have realized I knew and decide to cut and run."

"Preposterous! Mister Winslow," Nigel continued. "Take Mister Haley with you to the rum. Hurry. And keep an eye open for that scoundrel, Ivers. If you find him we want him brought to us immediately. Stealing is one thing, but we do not look upon burning the rum lightly. Mister Hoyt," Nigel finished matter-of-factly. "We suggest you have your wife tend to that wound. "

"I'm fine. We still have a fire to fight…"

"Very well," Nigel said with a wave of his lace covered hand. "Look lively me 'earties! We shan't let _ALL_ this glorious rum be wasted!!"

As Nigel wandered off to command the bucket line, Jordan noticed the dark stain on Woody's shirt. It had nothing to do with the soot that marred both their clothes. She reached out to touch it discovering it indeed was blood.

"You're hurt."

"I said I'm fine…"

"You're bleeding."

"It's stopped. Jordan, go back to the house make sure Lily and the others are fine. I need to get back to the line."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. If she was expecting him to tell her that it was the right thing to do, or that he felt responsible for pushing Ivers into this desperate act, she was painfully wrong.

"Because I…."

* * *

"_Okay, I give. What's with the smart ass smile?" Woody sighed setting aside the book._

_Jordan wrapped her arms around her pillow. "He going to tell her he loves her and there's nobody else." _

"_Oh come on Jordan, was there any doubts the guy's head over heels?"_

"_He's never told her before," she purred. _

"_Maybe he was afraid to say it out loud." Abandoning the book on the book, Woody burrowed under the covers facing her. "Maybe he was sure she'd avoid the subject for years admitting she cared for him more than she probably should, but they were better off just being friends." _

"_Mmmm, then she'd only be setting herself up for a lifetime of missed opportunities and lonely nights."_

_Woody brushed the tips of his fingers over the curve of her jaw, stopping to lightly caress the mole on the side of her lip with the pad of his thumb. "Woody, the wannabe rum maker, may not like to admit it, but Nigel was right. He'd always have a little bit of pirate left in him no matter what." His smile was straight out her fantasy. "And pirates have a way of getting what they want." _

"_Tell me, just how much does this ex-pirate really want her?" she asked, her voice hitching slightly. _

"_Later. How about I just show you right now?" _

_He spent the rest of the night showing her what lay ahead in their story._

_

* * *

_The sun was just peeking on the eastern horizon when Woody climbed the stairs to the balcony. The distillery was a complete loss, but the outbuildings had been spared the worst. More importantly the warehouse and the reserve had been saved. Thanks to Mr. Haley and his parrot. 

Like a hound on a scent Haley followed Matt and Peter to the caves where they found Ivers setting his next fire. The arsonist never heard the mute pirate approach until Mr. Haley's parrot screeched. "Why is the rum gone?!" William Ivers was spending the morning in the company of a ship full of disappointed pirates.

The fire was contained and the plantation workers trickled to their homes for some much needed rest.

Which left Jordan and what this was going to do to her.

Woody rubbed the back of his neck. The loss of the distillery was going to destroy her. Ivers left barely enough money to survive not enough to rebuild. It would take years to get enough money to restore production.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't realize Lily was at the top of the stairs until he almost ran into her. "Miz Lily," he blinked. "I'm sorry I didn't see you standing there."

Instead of forgiving him, Lily studied his face, her eyes flicking back and forth, reading him like he was a page in a tragic book.

"She'll be all right," Lily said reaching out to touch the dried blood on Woody's shirt. "It could have been worse."

"How? The stills are all gone and there is no money to rebuild."

"She has you."

"What am I suppose to do?" Woody snorted rudely. "Go back to being a pirate? _Steal_ enough gold to fix this? I would do it in a heartbeat if I knew it wouldn't damage the reputation of the label. "

Lily's voice took on an ethereal quality. "No. You just hold her closer and let the rest fall where it may."

"If it were only that easy," he said with a weary grin.

"It is. Go to her. Now. She needs to hear that everything will be all right from you."

"Even if I'm not as confident as you are, Lily?"

"It's in there Mr. Hoyt," she said tapping her forefinger softly over the center of his chest. "All you have to do is let yourself believe."

Tired and defeated, Woody nodded.

"Go," Lily said, stepping around him. "She's resting. The door is unlocked. I'm going to go to the beach with the other women and make sure everyone on board the_ Bullet's_ had a good meal. There is a tray in Jordan's room, along with a fresh wash basin, if you're interested. "

By Lily's dismissive tone Woody could tell he wouldn't find equal replenishments in his quarters. If he wanted a good meal he'd either have to go all the way back down to the beach…or simply open the door to Jordan's bedroom.

He was too drained to play the gracious host.

He lifted his hand to knock on Jordan's door but stopped before his knuckles could make contact. 'She's resting…' The door latch lifted noiselessly in his palm. He told himself he was just going to check on her. To reassure himself that she was sleeping comfortably…and maybe even to help himself to the food Lily mentioned. His eyes were instantly drawn to her bed.

The delicate iron scroll work of her bed frame was a marked difference to the hand-lathed island pine of the bed in the guest room. The soft white bedding and shear mosquito netting helped finish the understated romantic femininity of the room. This was where the mistress of a successful plantation slept. Not the pox-ridden gutter snipe he pulled off the streets of Port Royal. He could just make out her dark hair behind the curtain. Like a moth to a flame he stepped closer.

He shouldn't be doing this. Even though it was well in his rights, Woodrow Hoyt wasn't the type of man to make himself at home in a woman's bedroom, unless he was invited. Especially when he was as sooty and smoky as Jordan's private chambers were so fresh and clean. He turned heel before he made a fool out of himself.

"Don't leave."

Her voice was soft with melancholy. He stood frozen with his back to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright. I wasn't sleeping. I'm glad you're here."

Woody could hear her climb out of bed and reach for her robe. In his mind's eye he remembered what she looked like in the chemise Nigel bestowed to her on their wedding day. Only this time it wasn't a garish display of ribbons and embroidery. No, this time the linen was gossamer fine with maybe a touch of lace at the neck, just enough to draw attention to the lithe curves underneath. He swallowed back a moan.

"With everything going on we never had a chance to look at your shoulder."

"I told you its fine…." Woody felt the pressure of her fingers brushing the dried blood on the back of his shirt and the rest of his polite dismissal stuck in his throat like the tar the crew used to patch the leaks in _The Bullet's_ hull.

"I want to make sure it's not getting infected. Take off your shirt and let me look at it."

"Jo, I…"

"Sit." She didn't give him much choice when she gently forced him in to a chair by his good shoulder.

Woody did as he was told while she poured fresh water into the washbasin.

"I'm sorry this isn't warm, but I'll have a bath made ready for you later."

Woody didn't flinch when the cool washcloth hit his skin.

"It looks clean but it could probably use a stitch or two," She said gently, washing away the dried blood and soot from the fleshy part of his shoulder.

"I'll have Mr. Winslow do it later," Woody replied. After seeing her like this, standing so close, touching him, here…in this room…there's no way he could sleep with nothing but an unlocked door between them.

"Peter'd more like poke your eye out with the needle let alone thread it properly. Let me take care of it." Jordan argued back.

Woody sat back and pursed his lips. Maybe the pain would help his mind off of the unmade bed behind him.

Jordan pulled a bottle out of her wardrobe along with her sewing basket. She poured a healthy dose of the dark amber liquid in a glass and handed it to him.

"Drink up. It'll help with the pain."

One smell and Woody could tell this wasn't anything made here on the island.

"It's Irish Whiskey," she said answering his unvoiced question. "My father never lost the taste for it after he left the home country. It's got more of a medicinal affect then island rum."

Woody studied the glass. The color was haunting because it matched her eyes so well. He tossed the drink back relishing in the feel of the alcohol burn in the back of his throat. The whiskey's warmth started in his stomach and spread upwards and outwards making him well aware of its presence. He couldn't help but smile at the irony. It was as intoxicating as the woman in front of him.

"I can see why he loved it," he murmured no longer looking at the glass, but in the eyes the color of Irish gold.

Jordan didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. She could feel the heat rising in her face and truth be known, in other places as well. "This might hurt," she said, chasing away any dangerous thoughts.

Garret always splashed a little spirits on his patient's wounds before tending them. So Jordan had learned to do the same thing. Woody hissed a curse under his breath when the liquid hit the wound.

"Now sit still," she clucked in a motherly tone. "The worst part is over."

"Why don't I believe you?" Woody grimaced as the needle pierced his skin.

Jordan tacked three tidy little stitches in his shoulder before tying the thread off. She blew lightly across the tortured skin like a mother would over a child's scraped elbow. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Only Woody wasn't a child and it wasn't his elbow that was in question. He was well aware how close her lips were to the side of his neck. He wanted to ask her to do it again but she had already turned away.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, wringing the washcloth out and to Woody's pleasure, began to wash the other traces of the fire from his shoulders.

"….Anything."

"Why? Why did you do it? Why did you go after Ivers?"

He smiled wryly. "Land or sea, I know a pirate when I see one. I'm just sorry that I didn't do something the second I found out. I could have stopped all of this."

Her eyes glossed over, reminding him that this wasn't the first time a man he trusted let her down. "Men like Ivers will do anything to get there own way. I just wish I wasn't so blind."

He didn't like the way this conversation was heading. "You just trusted the wrong person, Jordan. It happens."

Jordan absentmindedly dragged the washcloth down Woody's arm. Maybe washing the soot from his skin was keeping her occupied so she would dissolve into an embarrassing puddle of tears at his feet.

"Perhaps it's for the best. "

"Jordan, it's over now," Woody stopped her, capturing her smaller hand in his. "All that's left to do is think ahead."

"I don't think I can. I'm not strong enough to handle this…"

"Don't say that. In the last few weeks I've gotten to know the strongest, most able-bodied, woman I've ever met," he said, locking her gaze with his. "You didn't give up when your father abandoned this place and your first husband died. You're a loyal and true friend who risked _everything _to help someone you love. You…lived….among pirates for weeks on end and not only carried your own, but did it admirably. You fell 60 feet in a raging sea and lived to talk about it. You nursed a man out of a bottle and helped him be reunited with his daughter. You've given shelter to an unwed mother and provide selflessly to those who serve you. History can be messy but it doesn't have to be your destruction. It can be a foundation for the future. This is just a little set back, Jordan. Nothing but an opportunity for you to shine again and I'm looking forward to witnessing it."

"And where do you see yourself fitting in all this?" she said with a watery smile.

Woody stood up and cupped her shoulders in his hands when it looked like she'd turn away. "I'll be the one watching your back and pulling you up by your shirt tail when you feel like you are going to drown. "

"I know you mean well, but it's all moot at this point." She couldn't look into his eyes any longer. They were too intense and it would be too easy to believe the support they were offering.

"You can rebuild. _We _can rebuild."

"I don't…."

This time she did turn away and he didn't stop her, but he didn't leave either. If anything he used her action to move closer.

"You still want me to leave don't you?"

"Yes, no …I don't know…"

She was lost and confused about what she really wanted. Her mind was telling her one thing while her heart another. JD made promises in the name of God, but the sea's call was too tempting in the end. How long would it be before the pirate in Woody made him leave? She knew her answers would come easier if he was standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body through her robe.

"The distillery is gone Woody. What about your dreams of rum making and sugar fed babies? What's left to stay for?"

"You," he said pulling her back against his chest.

She surrendered to the arms that had slipped loosely around her waist. "Will that be enough?"

His words were whispered softy in her ear, but the sentiment was clear and absolute. "If you want me to go Jordan, I will, today, even if I have to swim. But I'm hoping you'll trust me enough to let we make this work. I love you and I'm willing to do what it takes to make you happy. What's it going to be?"

While he was getting to know a strong woman over the last few weeks, her own life was being altered by a man who had more compassion and drive then most men she knew. Could she trust him in the long term? There was no way of knowing and only one way to find out. Her heart was already too involved to come out unscathed. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Jordan slowly turned around in his arms.

"You'll give up the sea?"

"Already done."

"Don't expect docile," she said, a hint of a smile quirking her lips.

Woody's own smile blossomed. "Never. I except to led on a merry chase as long as you let me catch you once in a while."

"How about now…" she asked leaning into him.


	14. Tending Your Wife

**Chapter 14**

**Tending Your Wife**

**Okay folks…this chapter is the reason this story is rated M. If you're under eighteen or don't like to read such, wait until chapter 15.**

**However, for those of us who like our WoJo Mojo hot and steamy, proceed with caution and a cold shower (or two).**

"_Hey!" Woody yelled when Jordan snapped the book out of his hands. "What did you do that for? I was just getting to the good part!" _

_With a flick of the wrist, Jordan tossed the book out of the bedroom with a hook that would make Kobie Bryant proud. _

"_I don't think we need a book for this part," she said with a sexy little smirk. _

_Woody's own lips curled provocatively. "No…?" _

_Jordan pushed him back against the headboard and straddled his hips. "While married Jordan never had sex in the daylight. There was something delicious about making love to Woody for the first time in the full light of day…" _

_Woody took her fingers and drew them to his chest as he picked up where she had just left off. "She took a fresh look at the body she'd soon know as well as her own. She noted the imperfections left by old wounds and new…"_

"_The latest he'd wear proudly to remember where they were at this very minute. The beginning of a new future together," Jordan said tracing the criss-crossing scars on his abdomen. "She felt his breath hitch as her fingers traveled lower to graze the waistband of his pants. " _

"_He can't resist reaching out a hand to touch her. Her body seemed to come alive with the slightest brush of his hand," Woody added tracing his forefinger over her. "He gently ran a fingertip from the tip of her nose in a line down her body…_

"…_Her neck… _

"…_.Her collarbone_

"…_.Her breasts…"_

_Jordan quivered as his finger tip traced a lazy circle over her nipple, making it pucker inside her tank top._

"_Jordan loved the feeling of his skin. She lightly touched the sides of his arms, drawing her fingers down his skin, enjoying the play of his muscles beneath."_

"_I'm sure Woody had another muscle in mind for her to play with," Woody laughed. _

"_In due time," Jordan said before she leaned over him to kiss the side of his neck. "She loved the salty smell of skin of his neck. Her tongue flicked out to see if he tasted as good."_

"_You too good at this Jordan," Woody moaned but still picked up the thread. "His fingers began to draw lines around her nipples and lightly pull at them ...the way they seemed to reach out for his touch was thrilling to him. He slipped his hands inside her robe, pushing it aside, leaving it discarded on the bedroom floor."_

_Jordan bit her lip when Woody slipped his hands under her tank top and touch her skin directly. It was hard to find her voice for a second, but when she did she was telling him what she wanted. _

"_Ah, Jordan could feel her heartbeat getting faster and stronger as his hands began to move towards her belly... She wanted to feel him inside her…."_

"_... Then and there…" Woody said huskily, pulling her top over her head. "But Woody wanted to make sure there were no doubts left in her mind. He wanted her to make that move..."_

_Jordan braced her hands on his chest and kissed him passionately, gathering a little inspiration for her next line. She licked her lips before she spoke. _

"_There was no uncertainty when Jordan took his hand and led him over to her bed. She brushed the mosquito netting aside and drew him in. When she felt the bed behind her knees she stopped and kissed him."_

"_His whole body sighed with relief as she pressed against him." Woody pulled her down for another world tilting kiss. "When she lifted her mouth, her look was one of feral intent. Gone was the nervous woman who tended his wound. This one knew exactly what she was doing, and it made him throb painfully." _

"_Woody stopped long enough for them both to catch their breath and to pull his boots off before he turned his attention to the ribbon tying her chemise closed," Jordan said catching her own breath. Her lips twitched when Woody's own fingers began to toy with the drawstring of her sleep shorts. She sat back up to give him greater access and to watch his face as he took his turn spinning the story. _

"_I've dreamed of this since I saw you standing in the underclothes Townsend found," Woody said almost reverently. "All I could think of was seeing you without it." His voice trailed off as he slowly pull one of the ribbon's tails." _

_To demonstrate Woody pulled the drawstring on Jordan's shorts making them drape dangerous low on the curve of her hips. _

"_She felt weightless," Jordan said taking over, "as he picked her up and lay her down on the bed…"_

_She didn't have a chance to finish her thought as Woody rolled them over._

"_His fingers began tracing lines down her sides making her quiver," Woody said, doing so to prove the shiver wasn't just part of the story. _

_Not one to be left out, Jordan set out to make him shiver too. She kicked off her shorts and began to touch herself._

"_He slipped his fingers down the sides of her legs and then drew them back up the insides of her legs. He stopped at her lips and slowly began to enter her...teasing the slippery surface he lightly ran his fingers around her and hit her center, making her groan. He pulled the fold of skin gently and then let it slip back into her. She stiffened up with pleasure…_

"_Yes, she whispered to him. Her hands grabbed his arms in pleasure...and she let out a soft moan as he repeated the teasing movements. She shivered deep inside."_

_Woody moaned in frustration at Jordan words. It was hard to think when there was so little blood getting to his brain._

"_Damn Jordan." _

_Her only response was a cat-and-canary smile and an eye brow arched in challenge. He didn't know if he could top her addition to the story but by God he was going to have a helluva good time trying. _

"

_Jordan's breath caught as it registered where he was going to take this. His pause let her know that it was up to her to narrate their story Woody's actions to match her own body's demands. She didn't think she could. "I don't…" _

"_Go with it Jordan," Woody said dropping a lingering kiss on the tip of breast. "Just let yourself be her."_

_She nodded and Woody slid into place. _

"_She arched off the mattress making the ropes beneath creak in protest. His tongue replaced his finger and he licked her gently. He waited until she was in sync with the rhythm he was setting before he increased the pressure. Her body was as tight as a bow string making her moan his name out loud. He slipped a finger inside her and continued to make love to her with his tongue. Another finger joined the first and she was quickly becoming lost in the sensations running through her whole body…oh God."_

"_Don't stop now Jordan. Tell me what happens next." _

"_His tongue moved faster and faster, bringing her closer to the edge. He rolled away from her and lay down beside her….pulling her with him…. she moves…..bonelessly….where he takes her. He started to lick her again. Uninhabited, her hands found their way to herself and she slipped her own fingers inside…"_

"_Yes, Jordan…yes." _

"_She moans and knows she is about to explode in his mouth….WOODY!"_

"_That's it…yes…!" Woody encouraged as she exploded for him. _

_After a few moments of regrouping, Jordan moved down to the end of the bed and covered his hard body with her very spent one. She captured his lips in a kiss, tasting herself on his lips._

"_The pirate took her to places she only dreamed existed," Jordan offered with a supremely satisfied smile. "Now, it was her turn to make sure he stayed land locked until they were both old and gray…." _

_Woody stopped her when she reached for the waist band of his shorts. He was so close now just the mire thought of her wrapping her lips around him would make him come like a overzealous teenager rounding third for the first time. He stilled her hand. _

"_For all intents and purposes this is the first time for them, Jo." He slowly rolled them over cradling her head tenderly in his hands. "Let me finish from here…"_

_Woody kissed her softly slowing his raging body in the process, even if that control was marginal at best. He spoke low and huskily._

"_In the daylight her skin glowed with the pink blush of satisfaction. He closed his eyes burning the sight in his memory. 'God you're beautiful,' he whispered. 'I love you.' He stood up long enough to shuck the rest of his clothes. If he was expecting any lingering modesty he was destine to be disappointed. Jordan opened her arms to him, beckoning him to make her his completely. He sank gratefully into her warmth. _

"_Nothing prepared to the feel of being deep inside her. Nothing. She begin to move underneath him, slowly at first, then faster. He raised himself up until he is almost completely out of her. He felt her muscles tighten and try to pull him inside, but he resists, knowing that if he did he'd be gone and want to take her with him when he went over the edge…."_

"_He will, Woody," Jordan gasped knowing a second orgasm was just within reach. She took over when it became obvious Woody was struggling to wait for her._

"_He plunged deeply into her, pushing her into the tick of the mattress. Her nipples tighten under the pressure of his chest, drilling into him, edging him on. He began to thrust harder and faster, feeling his balls tighten, and knew he is close. He wanted to bring her with him again. He shoved himself as far into her as he could and began to feel her….Ohhhh!….body responding again."_

_The dialogue took a break when their bodies fall apart and remerge becoming one. When they settled back to earth they looked at each other and smiled._

* * *

"MISTER HOYT!!!"

The late afternoon sun burned against Woody's closed eyelids. There was no way he was going to wake up from the best dream he every had to answer Townsend's summons. It wasn't until Jordan's sleep heavy arm draped over his waist registered in his foggy brain that he realized his dream was very real.

Which meant Townsend had to be the delusion. Woody pulled Jordan closer and willed for it to go away.

"MISTER HOYT!!!"

This time Jordan was the one to stir. "What…" she mumbled incoherently.

"I'll get rid of him," Woody sighed.

He rolled out of bed and pulled his pants on ready to give the blast pirate a piece of his mind. Woody was stuck with deja vu when he was once again greeted by most of the _Bullet's _crew no more then a few feet below him. Woody glanced over his shoulder to make sure Jordan was safely out of sight.

"What now, Townsend?" Woody hissed.

"I believe our host has finally bedded his bride!" Nigel announced to the crew. There was a swift round of applause before Nigel ended it. "It bloody took him long enough. The Casanova of Caribbean would have …well, never mind that. Time's a wasting."

Nigel snapped his fingers and Sidney muttered loudly under his breath, scurrying forward, dropping an obviously heavy leather satchel on the ground below the balcony. For a moment Woody wondered if it were Ivers' severed head, although it looked too heavy for that.

"We're departing on the tide. Please convey our sincerest thank you to your lovely bride."

"What is in the bag?"

"Isla Leche y Miel's missing bounty Mister Hoyt. It was cleverly hidden in the crypt. Corpses make wonderful bankers. They do not charge interest. Mister Ivers is a very shrewd businessman as well as a thief. He parlayed a very tidy sum indeed. We're impressed. Although, he can almost best Mister Seeley when it comes to crying like a little girl.

"I DO NOT CRY LIKE A LITTLE GIRL!!!" Matt shouted.

Bug felt complied to respond. "Yes, you do you guano gorging cockroach."

"Silence!" Nigel ordered and both men feel back in line. "Mister Ivers has been convinced to see how defeating his particular methods of piracy are. A thief should be mindful not to dip his fingers in the wrong purse. But, we must admit we admire the way he thinks. There is more than enough in there to rebuild."

"Minus your take of course," Woody said with a sarcastic grin.

"You besmirch our honor sir. Every last shilling is accounted for."

Woody was flabbergasted. "Why? You could have taken it all."

"That would leave Cavanaugh rum out of business," Nigel said with added drama, "which would leave this world sadly lacking."

"I don't know what to say….Thank you."

"Our repayment is in the ample bosom of your hospitality…and you we would accept it as a great honor if you should name your first born after us…which by our calculations should be by the end of the year. "

Another round of lewd suggestions and laughter trickled through the crew.

"I'd have to talk to Jordan about that," Woody said diplomatically. Changing the subject he asked, "What about Ivers? Please tell me you didn't keelhaul him." He wanted to deal with him his own way.

"Ah! Mister Ivers has most graciously agreed to barter his serves to us for a period of time equating to the booty we are forfeiting in the name of Bacchus and all the goodness he stands for."

"Bacchus, wasn't he the bloke in Charleston who had his hand chopped off for…" Matt began to ask.

"No, you loggerheaded miscreant . The capt'n is talking about the distillery. Bacchus is the god of wine."

"What?! Are you calling me a whiner now?"

Nigel wasted no time in ordering Peter to cuff them both in the back of the head.

"Mister Haley has considerately offered to make sure Mister Ivers is properly educated in the skills needed to be a member of our crew…"

Haley face cracked into a sadistic smile as his parrot squawked "Ten minutes!"

"Thank you for reminding us. We shall leave you now to go back to tending your wife Mister Hoyt. Until next time, adios."


	15. Five Years Later

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Five Years Later….**

_Jordan glared up at Woody. Through gritted teeth she demanded, "You don't think some little bed time story is going to get your out of this, do you, Woody?"_

"_Um…uh… no?" He couldn't meet her eye. He knew he didn't dare point out a little bed time story was sort of what got them- "OUCH!" He knew Jordan's strength, but had had no clue she could squeeze with that much force._

"_Just be grateful it was only your hand," she told him. There was a moment's pause. "Well?"_

"_Well what?" Hoyt was at a complete loss as to how to deal with Jordan. "A little scared" might even be a good description._

"_Well, how did the story end?"_

"_The story?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "The pirate story. The one we… told each other."_

_Light went up in his eyes, their blue depths shining with memory and merriment. "That story!"_

"_How. Did. It. END?"_

_He hesitated, searching desperately for an idea, any idea, to help him finish a tale he'd thought done._

* * *

"Land, ho! Land, ho!" cried a familiar voice.

Jordan looked up from the book she was reading on the beach. It was one of her rare free moments and she'd been enjoying the new publication by Mr. Swift, brought to her by Elaine. For a moment, her heart sunk to see the ship that was setting anchor in the little harbor, skiffs already lowering to the water, making ready to bring the crew ashore. Then she remembered the last time this crew had been here and she smiled in fond memory. She sat and watched as they disembarked. As the first skiff beached and its occupants began to wade through the shallows, Jordan heaved herself up and walked to greet the men.

"Captain Townsend!" Her voice was bright and merry.

He made a bow in front of her, sweeping his hat from his head, the feather dancing jauntily with the motion. "Ah…that would be Commodore Townsend, Mrs. Hoyt." He peered at her closely. "Tis still Mrs. Hoyt?"

She gave him a reproving look. "Yes. In fact, Father Paul came from Tortuga and – and – well, yes, it's still Mrs. Hoyt."

"Good, good." Nigel gazed around.

"Commodore?" Jordan asked, knowing it would take no more prompting than that to get him to expound on how his fortune had grown.

He waved a hand as if to dismiss it and then leaned closer. "May we walk to the house? We are certain your dearly beloved would enjoy the rousing tale of our… acquiring two new ships."

"Two?" Jordan raised an eyebrow. "I am impressed."

Nigel's gaze swept over her again. "And you can tale us the tale of how you acquired… well… your latest acquisition."

Jordan laughed and ran her hand over her very swollen belly. "_Commodore_ Townsend, I think that tale is first of all, one with which you are more than familiar and second of all, not one to which you are privy in this instance."

They walked up the beach, Nigel holding out his crooked arm for her to lean on. Jordan glanced back at his men who followed. She made a mental list. "You've lost some crew."

"Not lost so much," Nigel responded, "as moved about –against our better judgment we did give Mr. Seeley command of one ship and Sydney command of the third. And we do confess this one time along the coast of the southern New World, we did, for a while, misplace Mr. Ivers."

"Really?" Jordan gave a little shiver of antipathy.

Nigel patted her hand. "Not to worry. We found him, though he did prove more adept at concealment than we originally surmised." Nigel shook his head, setting the feather dancing wildly. "No, 'twould have been a sore loss to Mr. Haley."

"And his parrot," Jordan intoned with as much seriousness as she could muster. "I see Haley and the parrot are still with you."

"Aye. Do you know that it just so happens that parrot is almost as good with a spyglass as a cabin 'boy" we once employed." The pirate gazed down at her. "Though, in the parrot's favor, he has never dropped the spyglass into the ocean."

They came into the courtyard. Miz Lily sat under a tree, a brood of children around her, listening to her read. Nigel seemed almost taken aback. "We are… nigh on speechless!"

Jordan laughed and began pointing. "The girl with the blonde curls is Miz Lily's from her first… marriage. She was widowed, you know."

"Aye, so we've heard. We do wonder if Mr. Brandau realized yet he is dead, for he seems to believe his fiancé left him at the altar." He put up a forestalling hand. "Nay, don't worry. We'd never say a word; we have no love for the little pimple. Miz Lily was terribly kind to us when we were last here and we'd not have her place in the world questioned at all."

"Thank you," the plantation mistress murmured.

"And the others?"

"Oh, yes… well, Miz Lily proposed to teach the children here their letters and sums. The older ones are children of our workers. Her youngest pupil there, the boy with dark hair, will celebrate his fourth birthday tomorrow." She looked up. "I suspect he'd love to have a bevy of authentic pirates to help him along with the festivities."

"And the young lad's name? For his parentage is obvious."

"Why, Commodore, you need ask?"

Before he could reply, Woody strode into view. Word of the anchored ship and beached skiffs had reached him at the distillery. He walked toward the pirate, hand outstretched. He could no more harbor ill feelings for the ruffian than he could deny his wife anything her heart asked for. After shaking hands, he put a protective arm around where Jordan's waist used to be and rubbed one hand protectively on her belly. He glanced over at the children. "I see you've noticed Miz Lily's Madeline and our young Nigel."

"And we can hardly avoid noticing the impending arrival of your second heir, Mr. Hoyt," Nigel responded.

"Second?" Woody laughed. "Nay, tis the fourth!"

Again Nigel was struck dumb.

Woody's grin threatened to split his face. "Largely thank to you, Townsend, I got two of the three things I was searching for."

"Two?"

Another grin from Hoyt. "A sugar plantation and fat babies." He dropped a kiss onto Jordan's head. "And as for the docile wife, I long ago changed my mind."

"As if he had a choice in the matter," the wife in question chimed in.

Nigel and his crew spent a week at Isla Miele y Leche, celebrating the commodore's namesake, the birth of the fourth Hoyt infant and, the rather sudden affectation that bloomed between Bug and Miz Lily. When the tide took them away, they left behind Bug and gave promises not to stay away again for five years.

"In such time, you might amass a veritable fleet, Commodore," Jordan quipped as the man stepped into the final skiff.

"And you, Mistress Hoyt, might have 'amassed' enough little soldiers to stage a coup and rid Port Royal of its evil governor!"

Jordan's nose wrinkled. "Ah, we never speak that name here. Timothy of Kring has no love for us and we less for him. We simply keep to ourselves."

Nigel's smile twinkled. "That much is decidedly obvious!"

And with that, the skiff glided into the surf, bearing the pirate away.

* * *

"_Four babies? FOUR? In FIVE years? Are you nuts? Woody, if you think-" Jordan's objection, whatever it was, was cut off by a sharp pain, accompanied by a scream that ended in Woody's being called a few unprintable names. He blanched visibly at the threats she made against certain body parts. Did she have to be so specific as to which medical instruments would do the job the best?_

"_Jo, Jordan," he soothed. "I was just – uh – ending the story."_

"_They had FOUR babies! She did that FOUR times!"_

"_Well, uh, probably more-" Her glare stopped him. "You know, this one is going to be plenty. Perfect. Fine."_

_Another pain cut too sharply for her to reply and then the doctor was actually encouraging her to push, telling her just one more strong one and the baby would be here. Jordan crushed Woody's hand in hers as she bore down, her mouth a rictus of pain and effort, tears leaking from her eyes. She couldn't imagine how she'd let Woody talk her into this. Except not a lot of talking had been involved. Not rational discussion, that is. She really couldn't imagine ever-_

"_Oh, God, Jo! Oh!" Woody's voice was soft and awed and filled with choked back tears. _

_She heard the baby give a lusty cry and watched, exhausted, as the doctor let Woody cut the cord. Then he had their baby – their son – in his arms and was laying the infant on its mother's breast. And there was nothing in the world at that moment but Jordan and Woody and their child._

_Tears streaking down her face, Jordan lifted her whiskey eyes to Woody's azure ones. She smiled. "By the way," she murmured in a reverent hush. "We're __**not**__ naming him Nigel."_

_Woody chuckled his agreement. "Maybe the next one?"_

_She smiled broadly. "Maybe the next one."_

_END_


End file.
